


Nothing but Sand

by mrspanda



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic, Fluff, Healing, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Multi, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:55:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 32,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26715601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrspanda/pseuds/mrspanda
Summary: Anakin loses the pod race. The squad is trapped on Tatooine. Loyalties are challenged. People have feelings.
Relationships: Anakin Skywalker & Shmi Skywalker, C-3PO/R2-D2 (Star Wars), Darth Maul & Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi/Darth Maul, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn & Anakin Skywalker, Qui-Gon Jinn & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Qui-Gon Jinn/Shmi Skywalker, Rabe/Porro, ric & quarsh & obi wan
Comments: 38
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

An enthusiastic chorus of cheering erupted all round them as Sebulba’s pod slipped by Anakin’s and settled into first position. Somewhere in the distance Qui Gon Jinn could hear the commentator announcing what they all knew to be true. Sebulba had crossed the finish line, that drooping smirk permanently glued onto his aging face, his winning streak still intact, a hero to the masses once more. Tearing his eyes away from the screen, Qui Gon spoke. “At least the boy is safe,” he said, his voice steady and calm, his expression casual, as though the outcome of the race presented no obstacle at all. When he met Shmi’s eyes he found they showed a mixture of concern and relief. In her short time with the outlanders, she had found their sincerity to be refreshing. “I’m sorry that we couldn’t help you,” Shmi apologised. Qui Gon smiled softly back at Anakin’s mother, “it’s okay, I’m sure another option will present itself.” Unsurprisingly however, an observer to this interaction, the young queen was not so impressed. Padme fumed at him, her visible anger cutting through the gentleness of Qui Gon and Shmi’s exchange. “I can’t believe you. I just-” she spluttered in the face of the Jedi’s calm stare. “What are we sa gonna being doing now?” Jar Jar piped up behind her. “Precisely, master Jedi, exactly what he said,” Padme jabbed her finger vigorously into the air as she punctuated each word with betrayed anger, “what in the galaxy are we going to do now?”

“Obi Wan, I need you to do me a favour.”  
“Yes master?”  
“Empty the ship and bring everyone into town. I think we may have to stay here for a little while.”  
“But master what about the Queen? The Hutts are gangsters, if they find out she’s here-”  
“I don’t think we have a choice. I made an error of judgement.”  
Qui Gon pauses for a second.  
“We need to make sure the Queen is safe. Talk to her guards, we’re going to have to come up with some kind of cover. I’ve met some people who might be willing to help us, but for now finding somewhere safe for the Queen is our highest priority.”  
Obi Wan feels a surge of something unfamiliar as he hears Qui Gon breathe deeply.  
“Obi Wan, I’m sorry.”  
“May the force be with you master.”

Obi Wan Kenobi's eyes met Quarsh’s with concern as he passed on the news to the Queen and her staff. Although he had complete faith in his master, he was aware few people had as much belief in the living force as he did. This was not going to be an easy mission. The urgency of the situation on Naboo was ever present in all their thoughts, only serving to distract the men from the current threats they were facing. When he had delivered the message, Quarsh pulled Obi Wan aside. “The Queen will not be safe out there if anyone finds out who she is.” Obi Wan met his stare, a stoic strength between them acknowledging that they were very much on the same page. “I know,” Obi Wan said quietly.

Back at the Skywalker house, Qui Gon followed Shmi into the kitchen after dinner, and as they stood together washing plates, they could hear the sounds of Anakin’s excited retelling of the pod race drifting through from the other room, and Padme’s kind laughter mingling with that of his young friends. There was a loud clattering followed by giggling and audible eye rolling. “Oopsie-days, me sa sorry.” Shmi looked up at Qui Gon, her expression one of reassurance and warmth. “You and your friends are welcome to stay here for as long as you want, I hope you know that.” Shmi placed her hand gently on Qui Gon’s arm. Qui Gon retracted respectfully, withdrawing from the touch. “I would not like to inconvenience you any further, you’ve been more than kind to us.” He paused momentarily, “do you know of anywhere we could stay? Anywhere free from the Hutts?” Not for the first time during their stay, Shmi had an expression of resigned sadness that made Qui Gon's chest tighten. “This whole town is overrun. Nowhere will be safe if they find out who you are. The republic has many enemies here, not just the Hutts.” Resigned, they began to pile the plates neatly into the cupboard when Shmi stopped for a second, eyes firmly fixed downwards, looking anywhere but the Jedi, and said “thank you for trying to free my son.” 

The party of poorly camouflaged outlanders snaked through the busy street, trying to draw as little attention as possible to themselves as they headed towards the bar Shmi had recommended. While nowhere was truly safe, the broken sign and dark, flickering lighting showed promise of a place where they might be left unquestioned. The owner gave their outlander clothes a suspicious look as he showed them to their rooms, his three eyes protruding from his shabby hood to swivel round at each of them, but their anxieties were calmed when, unlike Watto, he was easily convinced that ‘republic credits would indeed do fine.’ The group split naturally between the rooms available, and Obi Wan found himself shepherded into a bunk with Ric Olie, where he immediately lay, face down, on the rough blankets. Ignoring the tedium of Ric's commentary as he chatted away to his men, Obi Wan took a moment to himself. Eyes closed, resting, he took a moment to empty his head, and feel the force flowing through him. He could sense the feelings of his fellow travellers with ease, but there was something more, something dark on the edges of his senses that he couldn’t quite make out. Shuddering and sitting up, Obi Wan picked up his communicator and set a transmission to Qui Gon.

“Master, we have arrived, I assume I will see you shortly?”  
“Yes. But you seem preoccupied my young padawn, why is it you called? Is something wrong?”  
“I don’t know master. I sense a disturbance in the force. I fear our staying here may lead to a danger we cannot come back from. I would sooner see us leave this planet escorted by smugglers than risk any more harm by our delay.”  
“I sense it too. There is certainly something dark coming our way. We must be prepared.”

Qui Gon and Padme entered the dusty bar and joined the table where Quarsh and Obi Wan were sitting along with Sabe, sipping a cups of a viscous purple liquid. Qui Gon took in his surroundings, noting the deliberate volume of the clunky, outdated music, just loud enough to cover any unsavory exchanges of words. Hooded traders at nearby tables were speaking in hushed voices and smoking bubbling liquids from long glass pipes as they negotiated their illicit trade dealings. There were a few more concerning characters sitting a little further away, but from their failed attempts to juggle what looked like small lumpy rocks with eyes, it could safely be said that they were in no state to eavesdrop. “Your highness,” said Qui Gon, addressing Sabe, “it is my fault that we are in this terrible position. I had no intention of putting you in such danger.” Sabe’s eyes met Padme’s as she responded “I do not worry for my own safety, but for the safety of our people. I cannot allow them to suffer as I while away at a gambling table.” Sabe’s head cocked slightly, “I am sure that you do understand the importance of this mission, Master Jedi?” Qui Gon’s emotions did not rise to the challenge, ever calm, he spoke, his voice barely audible, “our concern for the moment is of your continued safety, your highness. I will do all I can to find us a solution to this. You have my word. The suffering of your people is a great tragedy to us all.” Padme smirked despite the seriousness, amused at the Jedi’s politeness in comparison to the defiance he had displayed earlier when the group of them were alone. Padme held her gaze on the older Jedi’s face waiting playfully for the reaction as she said simply, “there is one thing you should know. Concerning the safety of the Queen.” she watched as Qui Gon’s eyebrows twitched together in confusion. “I am Queen Amidala. This is Sabe, my decoy and loyal handmaiden.” There was a snicker of amusement as the news sunk in. “I think you might like to get me a drink.”


	2. Chapter 2

The suns had just begun to streak light over the horizon as the Sith spacecraft touched down on the planet’s surface, kicking up a cloud of dust and sand, as the mechanical feet sank into the desert beneath them. Inside, Darth Maul undressed, folding each item of black cloth with a functional precision. He washed, methodically cleaning every scar on his Zabrak skin, scrubbing the memories of the past away, flashes of emotion rushing through him as the water touched each one. He sighed deeply, relishing in the sensation of strength as he ran his tattooed fingers over his crown of horns. _Peace is a lie, there is only passion_. Maul’s mind flashed blindly with hate as he thought of the task he had yet to undertake. This planet was far from powerful, and he would have gladly cut and murder his way through the whole place, but his master had greater plans. Drying himself, Maul replaced his earring and dressed himself, as neatly and efficiently as he had undressed.

Fueled solely by the Sith mantra and his deep hatred of the Jedi, Maul descended the stairs to this unfamiliar planet. It had been days since Maul had eaten, a state which reminded him of his training, and only served to add to Maul’s furious resolve. _Without strife, the victory has no meaning_. Maul whistled to his droids and bared his teeth as he hopped onto his hovering motorcycle, cloak flowing out fabulously behind him in the gentle wind. Maul's gloved hand gently patted the top of one of the droids as they zoomed past on their scouting mission. Maul had given all three of them names, and had, despite himself, developed a certain fondness for his mute travelling companions. After some consideration, he had concluded that the feeling was mutual, as they did, after all, share an unrelenting dedication to success. What more could one want in a companion.

It took only hours before Darth Maul was speeding towards the Republic spacecraft, silver and glossy against the endless sand. Wind rushed through his cloak as he whipped through the empty landscape. As he approached, he could sense something was amiss. A small band of unidentifiable figures appeared to be entering the ship and returning, laden with supplies. Maul could see in the reflection on the ship’s shiny surface a much larger creature, one he didn't recognise but which he assumed to be their transport, casually napping in the midday sun. Maul stood up on his motorbike, lightsaber at the ready, and as he approached he did a perfect somersault forwards, gliding through the air, letting out his lightsaber. The motorbike veered over to the side, stopping independently. He couldn’t sense the Jedi anywhere nearby, but he could feel the rising fear and alarm of the locals.

He heard a panicked yelp from the crowd as he approached. Jets of green light were suddenly visible, as shots were fired in his direction. Maul deflected them easily, slicing his lightsaber through the necks of the nearest scavengers, with a flair of extreme competence, as he did so. A feeling of total calm and hateful purpose flowed through him as he threw one of the larger men into the air with the Force. The man’s hands began grasping at his throat as if to remove invisible hands, wheezing noisily, gasping for air. Maul’s face was screwed up, almost snarling, as he spoke, sadistically slamming the man repeatedly to the ground, standing over him. “Where are the Jedi scum?” A number of the man’s companions, bowed away nervously, fearing for their lives, muttered curses along with helpful scattered phrases “there are no Jedi here,” “the Hutts? Welcoming the republic, pfft, never in your wildest dreams.” Maul’s power proven, and respectful of the apparent bravery of the men despite their failure, he let a few of them live, opting instead to slaughter the large horned creature that had stirred during the skirmish and was now looking at him with round, docile eyes. Slicing a part of the carcass away with his saber, Maul sunk his teeth into the raw flesh of the animal, indulging himself in his own satisfaction, his own desire and need fueling him further. _Through passion, I gain strength_.

Laughing maniacally, his hearts still pounding from the excitement of the fight, Maul spared a thought for the drones he had sent scouting. When his meal was finished, he used his communicator to summon them back to the ship. They would just be in danger out there, and they weren’t likely to be any help. The next step seemed inevitable at this point, he was going to have to go into town.

Darth Maul sat, face unveiled, in the corner of a dirty bar, sipping his water. He was given a few suspicious looks, perhaps word had spread of the skirmish by the spacecraft. Perhaps not. Maul was not exactly afraid of attack, the people around him disgusted him. Not that it compared to his loathing for the Jedi order, but Maul could see slaves dotted around. It reminded him of his own failures as a child, his own weakness, before he had met his master, before everything had changed. It infuriated him that these pathetic life forms could exist in such a way, ever subservient, never taking what they wanted. _Through victory, my chains are broken_. He wondered what he would have become if Sidious had not taken him away, if he would have become some weakness to his race, to his people. He idly traced a long-healed scar, his body remembering his master’s lessons, the reinforcement of the message he had heard since birth, the Zadrak of his home planet, and the Sith, both preaching. Refusing of failure. Nothing was impossible, there were only those too weak to take what is rightfully theirs. Frustrated once more at his master’s instructions to not draw the attention of the locals, he put his glass down on the table, put on his gloves, and walked out into the desert night.


	3. Chapter 3

The party of companions to the Queen had been getting by on Tatooine by selling most of their supplies and clothes, which worked well, as it allowed them to dress more simply and blend in with the local population. Short of using Jedi mind tricks, Republic credits held no value in the Hutt-run markets, so instead, the profits of their trade had been split equally- at Padme’s insistence. With no means to escape the planet anytime soon, the men had started enjoying their time in town, many of them choosing to gamble and drink their nights away at bars and inns, frequently surprising locals by winning bets of tests of strength or reflexes. It became a point of amusement to all of them how often their lack of awareness of local customs, their apparent wide-eyed innocence, led to them being underestimated. The details of their cover story also began to become more and more elaborate, often inconsistent, while this kept the Jedi constantly (calmly) on edge, other than Quarsh, none of the men seemed to fear discovery. Some of them fitted in so naturally into this chaotic environment that it seemed odd to ever think they had chosen a life of service to the republic. Not a night would go by without a drunken handmaiden winning over the trust of an unsuspecting, macho warrior with her gentle, reserved charm, only to be surrounded by cheers a minute later when she had utterly shamed them at arm wrestling, or hand to hand, or some other similar skill. 

It did calm Qui Gon down to see the people settling into life here so well, although, after finding out that Padme was actually the Queen, he had taken up Shmi’s offer for himself and Padme to stay with her. Shmi’s home had more space than she needed anyway, it was large, three bedrooms, bought in the days when Watto’s business was booming, and he could afford more slaves. In addition to Qui Gon and Padme, Jar Jar and R2-D2 had also taken to staying there, much to Anakin's delight, as they both seemed happy to accompany him at work and in working on C-3PO. Anakin’s friends were also fascinated by the new additions to their squad. None had any real memory of life outside the planet, and would sit wide eyed and listen as Jar Jar would spin elaborate tales of his childhood and life on Naboo. Shmi especially seemed happy about the company. Jar Jar frequently had to stop telling his tales to answer her questions about fish, or whales, which usually consisted of him flailing his arms around knocking everything over saying, “they sa berry berry big.”

This morning when Qui Gon awoke, he found his apprentice sitting at the table, talking and laughing with Shmi. “Hello master,” Obi Wan greeted him cheerily. “I daresay this planet seems to suit you quite well. However, we do have a mission to attend to.” Qui Gon took a seat at the table, “we do,” he agreed. Shmi passed over some food, affection gleaming in her warm eyes, “Eat. You should head into the bars in Mos Eisley. There’s work there.” Shmi noticed Qui Gon had a glint of an unfamiliar look in his eye, but it faded as quickly as it had come. Was it fear? Doubt? The Jedi seemed a little lost in his plans at the moment, but she hadn’t seen it phase him until now, he always remained completely calm, despite the regular outbursts from the Queen. “I know you will not work against the republic. Or against your code." she added hastily, "but there might be something for you.” Qui Gon nodded, Obi Wan responding for the pair of them, “of course. Something will present itself. Thank you. I hope we find a way to repay your kindness, we truly could not have made it this long without your generosity.” Shmi patted him on the arm maternally, and Obi Wan looked away slightly, bashful at the interaction. “It’s a pleasure.”

The two Jedi sauntered into town, loose cloaks flapping in the wind. They had exchanged their Jedi robes for local clothing, hoping to be less obvious, but, having worn little else for so long, they had not ventured far with their choices. As they headed through the open marketplace, the Jedi passed by Ric Olie, who had also replaced his pilot’s uniform, but for a knee-length green tunic, and who seemed to be chatting excitedly, face lined with laughter, hand in hand with a stranger. He smiled in acknowledgement at the Jedi as they passed by. Noticing, the lilac-skinned stranger by his side turned around too, her waist length braids whipping Ric and provoking a small chuckle out of Obi Wan. Jovially they headed further towards the heart of the town, entering a dark room wherein they could hear some funky music being played, courtesy of a blue, long-snouted keyboardist. After they had ordered some drinks, Qui Gon and Obi Wan split up, covering the whole bar in search of work.

Fruitless hours left the Jedi with little more than weakened morale. Slavery was rife on the planet, and as such, skilled slaves took up most of the legitimate labour. There was some work for pilots, although not for pilots without a ship, and bounty hunting wasn’t exactly in keeping with their peaceful moral code. Defeated for the day, the pair decided to head back to the inn where Obi Wan was staying. As they headed past Watto’s shop however, both Jedi stopped abruptly, sensing something about to happen. Suddenly the doors burst open, along with 6’4” of flailing orange limbs. The flying gungan was shortly followed by a fuming Watto, machine parts, and the tiny frame of Anakin Skywalker, darting between them, trying to break up the fight. Obi Wan and Qui Gon jumped in, Qui Gon pulling the Gungan away, grabbing Anakin with his other hand and shaking his head in amusement and cursing at the familiarity of it. Obi Wan attempted to use a Jedi mind trick on Watto, only to be scorned at, “what is with you two, you thinking you some kind of Jedi? Plefh, as if.” Qui Gon shot him a warning look and Obi Wan stepped back. He considered using the force to subtly keep Watto back, but figured that even this skeptical Toydarian might notice that. They negotiated instead. As he watched, the beginnings of doubt formed in Obi Wan's mind, something which he did not often feel around his master. Obi Wan began to question his master’s focus on the mission, he seemed distracted by the people on this planet. On cue, Qui Gon agreed that he and Obi Wan would return and fix everything that Jar Jar had broken. Jar Jar’s expression drooped and he hung his head in shame. He was only waiting for the day his new friends would get fed up of him too.


	4. Chapter 4

Shmi was tired. Watto had been in a foul mood with her all day. Even after the Jedi had fixed Jar Jar’s damage, and more, he was still pissed off and sulking around, forever hovering over her shoulder, giving her menial tasks on top of her usual workload. As the fluttering of his irksome fly wings began to threaten her sanity, she threw herself into fixing things, a trait she had noticed that her son shared. However, looking over at Anakin, smiling and laughing with his new friends, she couldn’t even bring herself to be annoyed with the gungan for his clumsiness. As for the others, well. Shmi knew that it was only a matter of time before they stumbled into some good luck, and they’d be off, flying to the city in the sky without a second glance. Anakin too, if Qui Gon had his way. Much as she might have liked them to join her cause, their purpose was elsewhere. They had their own people to save. But for now, she was glad of their company. The Queen, for one, acted far less like a teenager than she had feared. Other than the moments Shmi caught Padme alone, silently crying in her room, she was lively and sweet, sharing her time amongst different groups, bonding with Anakin and his friends, happily teaching them about politics, and about people.

Come lunchtime, Shmi was all but numb, her mind mute, her hands moving automatically, as she prepared Watto with his usual egg-seed meal. Carrying the plate through to the winged creature, she stopped suddenly, freezing in shock, at the hooded figure in the workshop. Completely oblivious to her reaction, Watto spoke, “this woman here needs some work on her bike, Shmi, go take a look, do your duties later, eh” he flew out of the room, snatching the plate, his tone still stroppy from Jar Jar’s accident. The tension in the room served as an ice bath to her senses, waking her from the haze of her workday. Shmi stepped forward, heart pounding as her brown eyes met glowing purple rimmed irises. “Hello Shmi.”

“What exactly is wrong with your motorcycle?” Shmi asked simply, leaning over the bike, ignoring the way the space in the room felt like it had grown, taunting her, seeming only to bring more focus on the figure standing within it. A pale green hand appeared from the long sleeve. Pushing back her hood and pulling away her face scarf, she revealed short, spiky black hair, and a symmetrical face tattoo, the intricacy and design of such matching the patterns that ran across her fingers. There were more tattoos than Shmi remembered, leaving her wondering what tasks had been done in the name of earning them. “Shmi?” she asked, her voice gentle but steady, full with a vulnerable need that Shmi felt deeply in her chest. She caught Shmi’s wrist, Shmi’s senses flooding through her, as their skin touched for the first time in 10 years. Shmi allowed her hand to be pulled upwards, feeling the softness of lips on her worn fingers, before coming to her senses and pulling back. “What’s wrong with your motorcycle?” The Mirialan looked hurt. “Shmi, I-” her words caught slightly in her throat, as though she was uncertain what to say. “I’m sorry. I wanted to see you.” She handed Shmi a plain leather cylinder. Shmi took it, tucking it into her skirts, overly aware of the sensation of their fingers brushing as they touched hands. Shmi stood up from where she was crouched over the motorcycle. The two women were mere inches apart. Shmi could see the scars on her neck, below her ear. She reached out and touched them with a finger. She could hear the silence in the room as she stepped closer, breath hitching in anticipation. Shmi’s hands cupped the woman's perfect face, as she closed the distance, and she and the Mirialan kissed, for the briefest moment. Pulling away, Shmi breathed softly, “I’m sorry too.” Mustering the strength to walk straight out of the door, Shmi left, without looking back.

Shmi smiled her way through the rest of her day, convincingly pretending her day had been nothing but ordinary. She was glad Anakin was so distracted with his new friends. Even when they were home, she could hear him chatting to R2-D2, who seemed to enjoy joining him in mocking C-3PO for his feeble nature. Shmi wasn't sure if she should encourage such behaviour, but that was a question she would wonder about another day. Shmi was still tired, and when the door to her dining room was filled by a large Jedi carrying a bag full of food from the market, something inside her broke. Surprised by her own response, of what the act of kindness did to her, Shmi bit back tears, smiling. Although she knew they could sense her feelings, she was glad the Jedi didn’t ask her if something was wrong, and allowed her to thank them without argument. Shmi avoided looking Qui Gon in the eye, instead preparing the table for the group of them. The dinner was good, better food than Shmi had eaten in some time, and the conversation was dominated by Anakin’s thorough interviewing of Obi Wan about the Jedi order and what it involved. 

“Why aren’t the Jedi allowed to feel fear? I thought fear was just a sign that you care about things.”  
“Yes, it is in a way. We just learn to control it, to let it go and be at peace with all things. Acting out of fear can lead to a great many problems.”  
“What about marrying, and attachments? What’s wrong with that?”  
“Nothing, of course. But all life is precious, and attachments would mean putting one life above another. We choose to put the needs of the community over our own. We cannot have our own wants.”  
“Hmm. Can you see the future?”  
“I guess. Sometimes. In a manner of speaking. Can you?”  
“I don’t know. I don’t think so, although I do sometimes dream about things before they happen, but my friends say that it’s just lucky. Are you going to help free us? Me and mom and my friends? Are you going to stay?”  
“Possibly. Our mission doesn’t seem to be going to plan. But I think we may have to go sometime soon. Naboo needs her Queen.”  
“How can you not know? I thought you could see the future?”  
“The force is mysterious. We only see glimpses. I’m sure it would be a lot easier to be a Jedi if we knew exactly what would happen all the time.”  
“I want to be a Jedi just like you.”

Later, when Anakin had left to go and play with his friends, Shmi overheard the Jedi disagreeing outside. “I will train the boy,” Qui Gon stated firmly. Obi Wan seemed dumbfounded, “master you know that you can’t do that, the code forbids it. Much as I am ready for the trials, there is no way that the council will approve him as your apprentice. He is too old, and he is a slave here, for another thing. You cannot just take him away.” “Obi Wan, my young apprentice. There are many things the council does that I do not agree with. I will not have this discussion again. I do believe he is the chosen one. I will train the boy. He will bring balance to the force. You must see that.” Obi Wan sighed in frustration, “master, you cannot surely believe that you are wiser than the council.” Qui Gon was silent. Not out of arrogance, he had simply said all he needed to. “Master please. If you choose to train the boy despite the council’s wishes, you will be expelled from the Jedi order.” Qui Gon responded simply, “so be it.” 

Qui Gon reentered the dining room, smiling peacefully, calm demeanour, as always, expertly concealing the nature of the conversation with Obi Wan. He sat, locking eyes with Shmi. He leaned forward, speaking with a slight air of intensity, “I will train your son. I promise you.” Shmi smiled, feeling the echoes of the emotion she had felt when he had walked through the door that evening stir inside her. As though a weight had been slightly lifted off of her chest, and in its place, a peaceful, flooding feeling, racing to fill the space. The Jedi’s hand lay resting on the table, and in the silence, Shmi reached forward with her own hand gently grasping his fingers, thumb stroking the back of his hand with a soft motion. A warmth spread through his body at her touch. He could sense her feelings, mingling with his own. He was sure she could feel his too. Her mind flashed briefly to the encounter in the shop earlier that day, and Qui Gon’s mind momentarily flickered over the possibility of leaving the Jedi order. A small nugget of anxiety was melted away between their fingertips. Uncharacteristically, Qui Gon did not withdraw his hand, instead, moving his thumb, ever so slowly, softly in return. They sat in silence, both breathing in mutual, unspoken support. 

Elsewhere in town, Obi Wan had returned to his room in a sulk, only to be immediately dragged down to the bar by Ric and Quarsh. They placed a drink in his hand and told him that, while of course he was a Jedi and was totally self sufficient, it was they who needed the support of a drinking buddy, and, well, he would be benefiting the well-being of others. How could he refuse? Grateful for their lies, but soberly wondering how they’d sensed his distress, he gave in. He smiled at his companions in thanks. Perhaps a drink would do him good.


	5. Chapter 5

Obi Wan awoke to a bright light. Sitting up and putting his head in his hands, he slowly became aware that he felt dizzy. The world spun around him, his stomach lurched horribly. A roaring voice to his left startled him as a searing pain bloomed somewhere deep in his skull. Looking up, bleary eyed, he saw a cup of water being held out in his direction. Grateful, Obi Wan accepted the drink, piecing together that the familiar voice was Ric’s, and that the words he were saying were something along the lines of, “I see you’re feeling well this morning.” Obi Wan groaned in response, hoping it was enough to make the noise stop, and sipped his water. He could hear chuckling from somewhere further away in the room. Or at least he assumed it was a room. Working out his surroundings was proving to be impossible. Whenever he opened his eyes, everything began swirling and he felt like he was going to be sick. It was suddenly a pressing concern, he was going to be sick. Strong shoulders appeared from either side of him, catching him easily as he stood up on shaking legs, and he felt the secure embrace of an arm around his waist as he stumbled along the corridor towards their communal bathroom. 

Obi Wan sat, leaning exhausted against the wall of the shower, acrid taste of vomit swirling round his mouth. There was a stream of steaming water raining down, and behind it, sat Ric and Porro. “What happened last night?” asked Obi Wan, croakily. His mind was stubborn to focus, blurry, but he remembered with shame the disrespect he had shown his master, during their disagreement. He remembered his fear. “We just thought you could use a drink.” Ric responded, “and if Quarsh is saying someone could do with a night off, then it really must be bad.” Obi Wan groaned more, running his hand through his wet hair. “You do know this is against the code? A Jedi is required to be self reliant at all times. Not to mention that we have a mission.” Porro scoffed, “we’re still going to look after you. I think we can assume this is your first time drinking. Drinking like that anyway. You were a bigger lightweight than Rabe, and that’s saying something.” Almost on cue, the pretty handmaiden entered, snaking a hand round Porro’s neck affectionately, she too laughing at the dishevelled Obi Wan. As she leaned over to plant a kiss on Porro’s cheek, Ric addressed the Jedi, “screw your code anyway. I know you have to keep your connection to the force, and, don’t get me wrong, it’s handy, but all this self denial can’t be good for you.” Obi Wan was shocked. He knew rationally that not everyone in the Republic supported the Jedi order, but he hadn’t expected such bluntness from a man of Ric’s rank. Ric’s straightforwardness actually made Obi Wan’s brain spin, an achievement given its current state, and Obi Wan was left thinking about things that he had long let go of. “Seriously Obi Wan, I’m sure being a Jedi is great and all, but you’re missing out on a lot.”

Obi Wan hadn’t contemplated leaving the Jedi order at all since he’d left Satine those many years ago. He remembered that he must have felt something at the time, but now, she was just a figure in his past. A past that he had let go of. He was committed to the code. He centred himself in the present, letting go of his emotions, of his shame, and breathed deeply, feeling only peace. He had made a dedication to this life and he must honour it. That said, it was true that he had never experienced anything else. From the age of three he had been in this world, absorbing the truth of the Jedi without question, never considering another life. When as a child he had needs, or desires, he had been trained dutifully to let them go, to provide for himself, to help others. The Jedi had been kind of course, raised him well. He had tried to not consider another life, as, it had always been enough. And it was true that nothing was more important than being a Jedi. Obi Wan, now calm and in control again, looked up from his place on the floor of the shower and felt something odd. Porro and the handmaiden were sharing a seat, their fingers intertwined, and Ric was looking on mockingly with what appeared to be a sincere paternal affection. Obi Wan himself had never known friends, or family. Qui Gon was both a compassionate and good master, and had trained him well, with patience and guidance. He was certainly the closest thing to a father Obi Wan had ever known. But, he too, was a Jedi, and his loyalty was to the order, and Qui Gon had never crossed that line of familial attachment, possibly not even knowing how. 

Meanwhile, Darth Maul had been staying at an inn somewhere on the outskirts of town. He didn’t know where he was, not really, nor did he care. He was somewhere on this desolate planet of sand, that was all that really mattered. The inhabitants of this planet infuriated him. There were those who expressed their power through ownership, or strength, who lived a life of peace, not striving for more than they had. Stagnant. There were those, like their local hero Sebulba, who seemed to be loved by all for their abilities at racing or combat. But even Sebulba, despite his life of competition, of striving for victory, was stagnant. Their lack of desire for power, for perfection, made Maul furious. Another Sith may have disregarded them as uninteresting, irrelevant to their own cause, mere pawns in their own conquests of power. But instead, Maul felt unrelenting anger. He spent his days visiting the different establishments in town, looking for evidence of the Jedi. He was yet to find a group of people he truly respected. Unlike his Jedi counterparts, Maul had made no attempt to disguise himself. He had no intention of exchanging his long black robes, nor of hiding his face, emblazoned as it was with Sith tattoos. The people had thus far proved unhelpful in their information. Despite his rage, he had been disciplined in so far as not murdering those who got in his way. 

Maul’s behaviour wasn’t typical of many Sith. His ambition, his passions, simply extended beyond simple hedonistic pleasures. This den of inadequacy would be well suited to one who had a passion for lust, or gambling. It wasn’t that he restrained himself like the Jedi, he simply had no desires to restrain. Lust especially. As a nine year old studying the Sith ways, he had asked his master what it meant, his master had responded with amusement that he would inevitably find out. Twelve years later, he was still none the wiser. In his hatred of the Jedi, he had taken every opportunity, back at the academy, to indulge on food, drugs, sex, giving into every selfish pleasure that the Jedi forbade, but he had not been drawn to any of them. The experience simply added further frustration, rage mixed with confusion at those who would dedicate so much practise to living without. Maul simply took what he wanted, with power and discipline. Only through strife would he grow, and it was only destruction of the weak, or those who stood in his way that ever made him feel any true passion. 

The day had been uneventful, and Maul sat, hunched over a corner table at what was becoming his most frequented bar. He nursed his plain water and contemplated heading back to his ship for a while, maybe spending time with his scouting droids. That plan, however, did feel a little too much like defeat. Maul’s fear of failure flashed before him momentarily, a true darkness glinting in his eyes as it turned to hate. His rage was still at his fingertips when the slender, yellow-skinned trader slid down next to him. “What are you thinking?” she asked, unprompted. She was beautiful, bubbly, with only small pigment markings round her eyes, accentuated well by golden facial jewelry. She had long head tails that she allowed to dangle freely, one brushing Darth Maul’s thigh. Her clothing too, was simple but tight, deliberate in showing off her astounding figure, not that the Sith took any notice. Another man had, however. The human in question sauntered over, in what could only be interpreted as a challenge. In an instant there was a tangle of limbs. Followed by a low humming noise and a flash of red light. The girl was screaming, the table thrown aside, her arms cradled around the top half of the middle-aged human. The bottom half of the man had fallen over elsewhere. There was a moment, a flurry of black fabric, and Darth Maul vanished into the street.


	6. Chapter 6

Anakin hadn’t meant any harm. He of all people knew he shouldn’t have been messing around with the Hutts, he’d been lucky enough to get through his childhood scrapes with Gardulla. But he had wanted to get hold of a part he needed for C-3PO, and his friend Kwi’teksa had finally heard of someone selling one. So despite the risks, he’d headed into Gardulla’s den, poorly disguised by a voice changing helmet that he had built himself on a quiet afternoon at the shop. Things were, initially, going smoothly. Anakin’s friends were fully informed of the plan, Kitster helping to lookout, and Kwi’teksa backing up Anakin’s disguise, treating him like an outlander. Her position in Garulla’s workforce gave her an insider advantage, allowing her to set the scene for the trade. Even Amee was involved, running interference back at the shop with Watto, covering for him with prepared, improvable lies. Anakin had got as far as talking to the trader before he’d been caught. So close.

He was now in a cage. Technically a cell, but one so small it seemed impossible to think that it could hold an adult. A thought that made Anakin shiver. It was easy to imagine the pain of a person being shoved in here, metal bars cutting their limbs and face as they tried to flail free. His mind was consumed by morbid thoughts. He began wondering how many kids had died here before him, and for what stupid reasons they had ended up in prison. Not that Anakin felt particularly afraid for his own life. He was more competent than his innocent appearance would indicate. Furthermore, as a group, Anakin and his friends were very hard to take down. Most people just seemed reluctant to just slaughter children. Even the Hutts. Not because the Hutts had any sense of morality, it just could cause trouble to their business to kill a child. Killing children was an easy way to make enemies. Especially slave children. Being someone’s property actually was pretty good protection. No one, not even a Hutt with all their power, wanted to make enemies over something as petty as a child. 

He did have a slight disadvantage though. Gardulla knew him. She was a Hutt, one of the most powerful gangsters around. The Hutts ruled Tatooine, their total domination over all the major trade making them very wealthy. And, she had had the displeasure of owning Anakin as a small child. She hated him. The Hutts were paranoid, suspicious by nature, and when Gardulla sold the Skywalkers, she had looked forward to being rid of this little human, who disturbed her with his unnatural talents. That was not to say that Gardulla was by any means a particularly cruel owner. Compared to Jabba, she was compassionate and open minded. She rarely put her slaves to death, and didn’t torture without a valid business incentive. She even allowed Kwi’teksa to attend her studies at Madame Vansitt’s Charm Academy. Gardulla felt that as at some point Kwi’teksa would be worth a lot to sell, it was worth a certain amount of trust in the meantime. 

Hours seemed to pass, and Anakin was uncomfortable in his tiny cell. Guards came and went, and there were distant screams of pain that made Anakin gulp in fear. While Gardulla was unlikely to kill him, there was nothing to stop her from doing… that. He knew he’d only really have one shot to run when he did get out, so he waited. Obi Wan had spoken about patience being important to a Jedi, and well, Anakin was willing to take any advice that his new friends could give him. One day he’d be able to join the order just like Qui Gon said, and he wanted to be the best Jedi that he could. He played with his necklace, popping out the false bead and replacing it, waiting. Underneath its innocent appearance, the bead held a tiny, razor-sharp wire. Shmi had given the necklace to her son when he first got into trouble at 3 years old, being oddly vague about where she had got it, something that Anakin was still curious about to this day. Anakin had learned any tricks with a wire, as his mother suspected he would, and he now could easily get out of handcuffs, and most locked cells. He still needed his friends though. Any time soon they’d be there. They were always there.

Kwi’teksa and Kitster were thrown down to the floor in front of Gardulla. Gardulla was surrounded by riches from all over the galaxy. A young slave was fanning her, while another fed her something from a yellow tank. The children felt a moist lump fly past them as she spat at them, her androgynous, long, slug-like body shaking in displeasure. She spoke in Huttese, asking questions they had prepared for. They had prepared well, it was hardly their first interrogation. Unsurprisingly, the grilling achieved nothing, and in her frustration she had an older slave hit the two children. She watched on, licking her lips and chuckling as they recoiled in pain. Kitster cursed softly, feeling the heat where the whip had touched his back spread outwards. He could feel the stickiness where his skin was seeping. By his side Kwi’teksa had got up, bowing deeply to her master, he admired her, receiving her beating with far more grace than he could conceivably muster. Thankfully, the punishment didn’t last long. A slave injured or detained was after all, just a waste of money.

When Qui Gon came home, his senses were met at once with a worried Shmi. She was sitting at the table, alone, a worried look on her face, worn hands softly wringing together. Anakin’s absence was noticeable, it felt wrong, and immediately the Jedi was on edge. “Where is the boy?” he asked, without waiting for her to voice her concern. “I don’t know. He ran off from work.” Shmi was chewing the corner of her mouth, “he’s just a boy, he does that sometimes. It makes me wish for a better life for him.” Qui Gon could see how guilty she felt, and looked straight at her, hoping that his calmness and lack of judgement would help, somehow. “I know I shouldn’t be as concerned as I am. But he’s a boy. He’s too trusting. It’s both his kindest trait and the thing that gets him into the most trouble.” she sighed deeply. She seemed vulnerable, a slight frailty breaking through her ever-competent demeanour. Qui Gon felt an urge to put his arms around her. He opted instead for placing his hand on her shoulder, the pressure firm and reassuring. “I can go. Just tell me where to look.”

It took Qui Gon a little time to find Gardulla’s den, and when he did so he was greeted by three smiling children. “Hey, were you here to find me?” Anakin asked earnestly, running to hug the Jedi. Qui Gon knelt down, “where have you been? You can’t just run off like this Anakin, your mother is worried about you.” Anakin looked ashamed, and his friends reflected his feelings, fidgeting as they shuffled back, giving him space. “I’m sorry master Qui Gon. I never meant to be out this long.” Anakin’s face fell. “I guess I should have realised this was a bad idea.” Qui Gon pulled the boy tightly to his chest, opening his arms to pull the other two children into the hug. He ruffled Kitster’s hair slightly. “I’m glad you’re safe.” 

When they appeared in the doorway, Anakin riding on Qui Gon’s shoulders, Shmi ran up to meet them, immediately hugging her son. “Mom. I’m sorry.” His young eyes were filled with sadness and his mouth was twisted to one side in a serious frown. Shmi didn’t doubt his sincerity. “Ani, you can’t do this again. You know it’s not safe here.” Anakin protested, tiny palms outstretched, “but mom, I’m safe. It’s okay. I know how to look after myself. I’m better at it than most people, you said so yourself.” Qui Gon shot him a look. Anakin looked to the floor shamefully. “I won’t do it again. I’m sorry mom. I love you.” For the rest of the evening the children were found following Qui Gon around almost comically, in a little line of guilt, helping out as much as they could with cooking and cleaning everything up. Shmi smiled, she was proud, despite her fear. Her son was every bit the kind, inquisitive kid she could have ever hoped for. She herself had never played it safe before she had become a mother, and she couldn’t really blame him for doing the same. 

Something unexpectedly helpful did come of Anakin’s little adventure. As he was explaining what happened, the boy enthusiastically added details, embellishing his heroism in a typical fashion. He spoke fast, words tumbling out chaotically. “I heard something weird, Master Qui Gon. There were these pilots in the cell next to me, I don't know why they were there but they didn't seem to notice me, and I heard them talking about Coruscant, where you were heading,” he nodded at Qui Gon, “only they were talking about what the Queen of Naboo was doing there, and then they said something about the Senate. But I’m confused, I thought Padme was the Queen of the Naboo? How can they be talking about her being in the city when she’s here with us?” Qui Gon’s face was one of genuine surprise. “I have no idea Anakin.” he said.

Qui Gon had of course immediately contacted his padawan, Quarsh and the Queen for a meeting. He trusted the child, Anakin had so far been nothing but honest, if not totally reliable. Qui Gon hoped that the others would not take much convincing. The foursome congregated in Obi Wan’s room, lazily taking seats on the nearby bunks, Padme, for once, looking her age as she sat cross-legged on the bed, picking at the hem of her grey tunic. Qui Gon passed on what he had heard, and they all sat in mutual confusion. “I guess we should contact Coruscant?” Quarsh said at last. His tone was doubtful, as though he wished he had a better suggestion to offer. He was slightly reassured though, as Obi Wan concurred, “if the boy is to be trusted, this news could serve as the solution to all of our problems. The Trade Federation would never send an imposter to Coruscant. It’s got to be someone from our side.” It did seem hopeful. Padme smiled, eyes twinkling, and said simply, “I wonder how they fooled Senator Palpatine.”


	7. Chapter 7

Anakin and his friends were sitting on the ground outside a market stall. The group of slave children had met with Kwi’teksa after her classes, and were now playing a board game of their own invention. The game was complicated, it had taken them a long time to develop, and had many layers of strategy and lateral thinking. Shmi was secretly really impressed with the way her son played the game. Whenever she watched the children playing at home, she was impressed to see their young minds come up with strategies that she herself had missed. Since being captured at Gardulla’s, Anakin was still feeling guilty for worrying his mother, so the children had temporarily stopped pursuing the part for C-3PO, and were, for once, not plotting anything. They were just playing. Groans and laughter could be heard as the children threw down tiny hand-crafted pieces in frustration.

At a nearby stall, a meat seller had just sold the corpse of a small feathered animal to a red-skinned Zabrak. Paying, despite his distaste for doing so, the man sat himself down on a nearby bench to consume his meal. He picked out the feathers one by one, levitating them as he let them drift away from him. From his seat he could see the group of children playing, their conversation was just within earshot. He was surprised to find they didn’t infuriate him as much as most of the people on the planet seemed to. They were children. They were training. They had not chosen to settle with their life of inadequacy, they were simply too early on in their path towards power and perfection. Maul could remember himself at that age, he would have been equally as frivolous if not for his master. Sensing that he was being watched, one of the children turned to look at Darth Maul. He had golden hair shaped like a ball, and young, chubby cheeks. Maul could sense something unusual about him. Was it, power? Maul felt an urge to smile at the child, the sensation odd to his skin, but thought better of it, instead opting for raising his hand slightly. The child raised his hand in return, waving, the motion drawing the attention of his friends. Maul could hear one of them snickering at his appearance, making a god awful joke about sunburn. With nothing better to do, the group started to head in his direction. Maul was not prepared for this.

Maul’s gloved hand reflexively rested on his lightsaber as the children surrounded him. It was unnecessary action, if he wanted to draw he would use the force anyway, but it didn’t go unnoticed. “Are you a Jedi?” Anakin asked innocently. The rage welled up behind Darth Maul’s glowing yellow eyes. Luckily, some part of him did, however, take note of the tone of the child. There was an odd familiarity to the way he asked, and Maul, completely lacking in leads, was curious where it came from. Instead of explaining to the children the deep, unforgivable flaws of the Jedi order, Maul opted for a question. “Do you meet many Jedi?” Maul’s voice was gruff, he had not spoken much in a while, and it was possible that he had failed to conceal the hostility he was feeling. Maul’s suspicions were confirmed when Anakin responded, definitely a little too quickly, “No, I just saw your laser sword. And you seem pretty awesome. I want to be a Jedi when I grow up.” Darth Maul stared down at the kid, and even more so at his friends, who had fallen oddly silent, foolishly letting Anakin take the lead. The child shrunk away as the Sith’s yellow-ringed eyes bored into him. Anakin could feel Maul sense that he was being lied to, and backed away, afraid. Diplomatically, Kwi’teksa intervened, “he might have killed a Jedi, or just bought it somewhere. The laser sword doesn’t mean anything Ani.” Ani. That was the child’s name. Maul didn’t know why he didn’t strike him down right now. The child wanted to be a Jedi, it was hardly as though he had a worthy life ambition. It would be easy enough to extract the information out of the others, they were all clearly hiding something.

It seemed an unlikely pairing, Darth Maul and this group of slave children. Maul himself had, of course, been a slave, but it was still rare that he went as far as to show empathy for those weaker than himself. Maul consoled himself that it was a strategic advantage to not kill them where they stood. It would inevitably lead to a lot more murder, and that could interfere with the mission. He had no desire to fail the mission his master had set him. Perhaps they would lead him to the Jedi. For now though, Maul was frustrated with their questions about who he was, and why he’d come to Tatooine. Noticing his reaction, the children decided instead to show him the game that they’d been playing. It was complicated and subtle. And much as Darth Maul feared failure, sitting on the ground being laughed at by small children was not really triggering his rage. The Sith did not tolerate defeat. Nor did the Zabrak. But for some reason these children found humour in it. Not malice, not manic glee at the misfortune of others, nor a pompous, self-denying peace. Genuine, happy, emotional humour. If he had acted in any of the ways that these children were now, he would have been beaten horribly, and grateful for it. _Without strife, one does not advance._ And without advancing, one cannot reach perfection. Darth Maul looked at the children and wondered, if you are not aiming for perfection, why are you alive?

Maul found himself smiling. The children seemed happier still when he joined in, mocking Amee for her poor choice in gameplay, cheering Kitster as he pulled off a complex maneuver he had been planning many moves ahead. The children were affectionate too, high fiving and hugging. They seemed slightly on guard around him, but it was they who had approached Maul, so he did not overthink it. Words of support were chanted time and again, as tiny hands cupped the multicoloured dice. Maul would be ashamed to admit that he may have even used the force to manipulate an outcome from time to time. Something about the children’s enthusiasm was infectious. He even considered making a joke, feeling oddly small as his brain grappled, only distantly familiar with the sensation. He wanted to see them laugh. The thoughts did creep back though, making him twitchy. This all felt an awful lot like complacency. Oddly, the sand, the heat, the children, kept him grounded. He almost thought of Kilindi and his time at the academy, but luckily his brain kept him from that, otherwise he might have lost control, knowing that all good things must end, and it would not serve his mission to lash out indiscriminately.

Elsewhere in town, Obi Wan Kenobi was also playing a game. Play as a concept was not explicitly forbidden by the code, but it flew in the face of many of the messages of the Jedi order. Desiring personal gain, emotion, passion, a want to beat others- not to help them, these, and many other forbidden traits were often nurtured through playing games. Certainly through the types of games he was playing now. If a mission required it, a Jedi could of course participate, but to do so for himself, would fly in the face of his full and lifelong commitment to the Jedi order. But Obi Wan was joining in. And it was not a part of his mission. It would be wrong to say that he didn’t care. The Jedi order was, of course, the most important thing in Obi Wan’s life. He was ever aware of his duty, and he still deeply felt his commitment. Lately however, seeds of doubt had been growing. Qui Gon had been persistent in his plans to defy the council, and the mission had been going spectacularly unsuccessfully. If his master could question the council, the code, then so could he. It was hardly the first time he had done so. It always turned out to be a mistake, but perhaps he didn't care as much as he thought he did. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was joining in, but it was definitely happening. Quarsh and Ric especially enjoyed this side to Obi Wan.


	8. Chapter 8

Qui Gon had finally found a job he could do. The group of outlanders were by no means short of money. At the Queen’s insistence, they had continued splitting their profits equally, and it seemed that most of the men had managed to find some source of income. This made Qui Gon uncomfortable, as he had so far not been able to contribute, and it flew in the face of his Jedi self-sufficiency. He had recently heard that a greater krayt dragon had taken residence in one of the Laguna caves. Additionally to the threat it posed to the sand people, it was very inconvenient locally, as pod rescue teams would avoid doing their job. Helping those whose pods were unfortunate enough to crash there felt like a death sentence, not that the race organisers were willing to move the course. Qui Gon had also heard rumours of the beast’s description. Greater krayt dragons were incredibly rare to the area, usual encounters were with their common counterparts, so people were excited to pass the information around, talking of its ten legs, spiked tail, and always making reference to its massive size. From what Qui Gon could deduce, this creature was about a hundred and fifty metres long. And terrifyingly lethal. Qui Gon had a Jedi-bound duty to rid the people of this threat. The reward money was purely a happy coincidence.

Shmi treated Qui Gon with concern when he left in the morning, heading to buy two banthas to take with him, preparing, in case he needed to use one as bait. Krayt dragons were often attracted to strong appearances of the force, and Shmi feared that it might sense Qui Gon’s presence before he got an opportunity to attack. Shmi had also expressed her concern by giving him a gun to take with him. He had looked at her with surprise as she pushed it towards him. His smile seemed almost impressed. She wondered how impressed he would be if he could see her use it. Although she hadn’t spoken her fear aloud to the Jedi, it was clear to any onlooker that she was worried. She surprised herself by how much she had come to care about him in the recent weeks. Her feelings had started extending beyond general human kindness, to a specific feeling of warmth that it seemed was reserved only for him. She saw how kind he was with her son, how willing he was to fight for their safety, yet how he always remained truly, deeply calm. Of all the people in her life, there were few who had shown Shmi peace. Most opted for anger, worn down by their weary and difficult lives, and Shmi had grown accustomed to assuming that when she met a stranger, they would, inevitably, lash out at some point. 

It was evening, and Qui Gon was close to unconscious, riding on the back of a bantha. It had been an epic fight, the usually intimidating Jedi seeming insignificantly tiny in comparison to such a mighty creature. It was as large and deadly as the locals had described, over a hundred metres of horns, spines, claws and teeth. The Jedi didn’t fear for his life, it was one of the perks of his faith in the Jedi order. He had confidence that in death he would simply join the living force. This didn’t make battles any easier to win. The dragon held up his own, lashing and dodging lunges without tiring, whipping his long tail round, coming dangerously close to decapitating the Jedi. The venom of a krayt dragon was notoriously lethal. One scratch from that mighty tail, and it would be unlikely that Qui Gon would survive the night. It had been luck, as opposed to any strategic fighting, that had ultimately created the opportunity for Qui Gon to fire that deadly laser blast into the dragon’s brain. The dragon had reared up on its back legs, planning to grab the Jedi between its massive jaws, when a well placed shot to the sinus cavity hit the dragon squarely in the brain, killing him dead. Tired and injured from the fight, Qui Gon had tried and failed to roll out of the way of the falling carcass. At some point he regained consciousness enough to drag himself out from underneath it, over to his remaining bantha, who sat patiently as he crawled onto its back, and headed nonchalantly towards the town, thankfully without the need for Qui Gon’s direction.

Qui Gon had no idea how he made it back to the Skywalker home, but he did. He was there somehow, stumbling through the narrow doorway. Instantly he was met by concerned faces and strong arms, as he was half carried, half dragged to his bed. Padme and Shmi laid him down gently, Padme taking instruction and acting with a natural competency. The crowd was becoming too much for Shmi, and much as she loved her son and house guests, she needed to focus. “Padme, I need some space.” Shmi spoke directly and clearly, and nothing more really needed to be said. Padme grabbed Anakin firmly by one hand, and used her other to tug on Jar Jar’s elbow. The room became calmer, and Shmi breathed deeply as she heard the sounds of them leaving the house. 

Shmi got a bowl of water and some cloth. Qui Gon was motionless, his body limp, but his eyes still followed her every movement. His breathing was laboured and it was clear that he was in pain. Shmi hushed him and whispered reassuring words as she washed the wounds on his head, feeling him wince as she cleaned the open cuts. “I really hope you haven’t done something stupid,” she whispered to him, as she dragged her wet cloth over his cheek, cupping his face with her other hand. He shook his head a tiny bit, eyes locked on hers, the effort straining, causing him to make a tiny noise of discomfort, his face twitching slightly. Shmi took that as a good sign. She couldn’t see any bite marks, or snapped off spines, it seemed he had got away lightly, all things considered. No venom. She left, fetching with a medical kit of surprisingly professional quality for a slave. When she returned, she noticed that his eyes were half full of tears. He looked… apologetic? She took his hand, clutching it tightly and looked at him, her forehead furrowed. “It’s okay,” she reassured him, “It’s okay, it's okay you’re going to be okay.” She felt the soft movement of his thumb against her fingertips and she squeezed his hand tightly, bringing it to her chest. She leaned over him and smiled. It was strange, seeing Qui Gon like this. Shmi herself was no stranger to vulnerability, and she and Qui Gon had sat together in many a shared silence, but even when he seemed lost, he had always been in control, able to walk out if he needed to.

His clothes were torn, stuck to his skin in places by a mess of dried blood. She cut open his shirt, as tenderly as she could, and began washing the scratches on his torso. He was badly bruised. The more of his shirt she removed, the more Shmi’s heart sunk. The wounds were bad, his skin was almost completely discoloured. She hoped that Jedi had some sort of force remedy for fast healing, because from her experience, these wounds would take a very long and painful time to fade. Shmi couldn’t tell if any of his ribs were broken, such was the swelling around his chest. She decided to believe that they weren’t, although his shallow breathing did indicate otherwise. His skin was warm, and her hands were gentle and steady, moving gingerly, trying to hurt the Jedi as little as she could. Her own chest tightened every time that she felt him flinch, feeling shamefully guilty every time her actions caused him pain. When it got particularly bad, he would start breathing too fast, and Shmi would take a break to give Qui Gon a moment to adjust. She would sit on the side of his bed and stroke his hair, telling him that he was okay, that he was an idiot, telling him she’d seen worse. It was all true, but it didn’t make it any easier. 

It took a long time to tend to each of his wounds, but Shmi took as much care and dedication with each one. There were moments where he seemed a little more recovered, and Shmi could hold a cup to his head, helping him drink. It made her feel better to see him like that, reassured her that maybe he wasn't as bad as he seemed. There were other moments where it seemed to be too much for him, and he closed his eyes, breathing rapidly, and she would be there, holding him. She began talking to distract him. She told stories about when Anakin was young, recounting the funny things he’d said as a child. She talked fondly about the times he’d made her happier than anything else in the world. Shmi was not used to talking about herself this much, she wasn't particularly chatty by nature, but she could feel that the Jedi was grateful, and regardless, she felt safe. It was nice talking to Qui Gon. Looking down at his tired, blue eyes, she could see nothing but good. If only Anakin’s father had been as good as this, how much easier her life might have been.

It was late into the night by the time she was done scrubbing Qui Gon’s blood out of her fingernails. When she reentered the room that he shared with Padme, she sighed deeply, feeling as though she had finally let go of a breath that she had been holding since he collapsed into their house many hours ago. His wounds were stitched and bandaged, yellow paste held down by clean, white dressings. He lay, partially undressed, still silent, eyes still tired, but his breathing softer, more regular. He had the beginnings of a smile on his lips. She placed a thick blanket delicately down on top of him, covering his body and tucking it softly under his chin. His eyes closed. Shmi turned off the lights. In the darkness, she leant over, and placed a gentle kiss to his forehead. “I’m glad you’re safe.” she said, unsure if he was awake. Her words echoing those he had said to Anakin. She sat for a moment, oddly grateful for the series of events that had led this particular Jedi into her life. As she started to pull away to leave, a hand grasped her wrist, holding her in place. Smiling, she stopped and lay herself down beside him, making a massive effort to be careful of his injured body. This was where Padme found them both in the morning, Shmi curled by the Jedi’s side, still fully dressed, medical equipment strewn by the bedside, both looking more peaceful than Padme had ever seen them.


	9. Chapter 9

Darth Maul had opted to leave his lightsaber behind as he met with the children today. It was a calculated risk, but rest assured he was more than capable of looking after himself without being armed. And it seemed things would be easier in his hunt for the Jedi if he was a little less recognisable. He had no intention of revealing what he was and he didn’t want any more questions, naively hoping the children might forget to ask any. It would also make it easier to not slaughter any of the locals, he figured, as Maul feared today in was likely his tolerance was to be tested. When he had met the children, he spoke little of his experience, but from what scraps they could deduce, they had still been bold enough to ask for his help in building the spaceship that Anakin was working on. Seeing no reason to not, and willing to support anyone who was seeking more than this limited existence, Maul had agreed to help.

They met in a part of town that was unfamiliar to Darth Maul. As he approached the group he was surprised to see two taller figures amongst the cluster of small children. Apprehensively, Maul continued towards the children. Tiny figures circled him, a sea of babbling noise, dragging him forwards. “Look at my spaceship! Do you like it?” Anakin was asking him excitedly. Not wanting to disappoint, Maul nodded enthusiastically. “Who sa dis Ani?” One of the strangers asked, immediately infuriating Maul. “This is our friend Maul.” Anakin replied, “he’s a Zabrak from Dathomir.” added Kitster. Amee chimed in, “yeah, he doesn’t say much.” Apparently he’d said too much already, thought Maul. The taller girl smiled affectionately down at the children. Looking more closely Maul deduced that she couldn’t be that much older herself, but she held her body in a commanding posture, and the children responded to her with a certain degree of respect. He wondered if she'd earned it. “Maul, this is Jar Jar, he’s a gungan, and this is Padme, she’s a qu-” Anakin cut himself off, hastily covering with, “she’s our friend she lives with us too. And these are our droids, R2-D2 and C-3PO.” Anakin gestured to the taller droid, who stood shakily, wires exposed. “He isn’t finished yet, but I built him myself.” R2-D2 bleeped contentedly in greeting. Maul found himself slightly impressed.

The desert sun was punishing, and maul found himself shedding his cloak, revealing underneath another layer of long-sleeved black fabric. He was indeed helpful, his experience and skills used well by the children, although they seemed more than competent on their own. R2-D2 was nipping around, occasionally making snide comments at people's handiwork only to be immediately chastised by C-3PO. At some point, Jar Jar got bored, and started playing a game with Kitster and Amee, picking one child up at a time and running around, carrying them on his shoulders, giggling. Watching them raised some feelings in Maul, but they dissipated easily. Maul said nothing the entire day, content with focusing on the tasks he was given and listening to incessant chatter of the children. Fixing things, building things, this he definitely felt had passion for. He felt good. Despite his intent focus, he was aware of his surroundings. Padme was also quiet while she worked, he noticed. She seemed deep in concentration, her skills intuitive despite a seeming lack of experience. Her skin was smooth, he observed, under the dirt there were few scars or markings, fewer than the other slave children. She caught him looking at her and half smiled, blushing nervously, her youthful beauty apparent. Maul was confused by her apparent reaction to him looking. Unembarrassed at being caught, Maul turned wordlessly back to his work.

The others stopped to eat, but Maul carried on, he was really getting into his stride. It was hardly as though he could eat anything that was on offer anyway. He thought he had avoided any interrogation for the day, but he was mistaken. “Are there slaves where you come from?” he was asked. Of course. There are slaves everywhere. Maul could not remember visiting a planet which did not have slaves. Even those that claimed freedom were still ruled, religiously controlled by someone, by some system. Free to pursue some routes, but not others. He simply answered, “yes,” but he listened as Padme talked on. She seemed passionate, angry, seemingly under some illusion that there was a way to a better world, something different, fairer. He didn’t bother to challenge her naivety. Maul wondered if her ambition was something he should support, as the goal seemed to be one of stagnation for everyone. Only from rising up from one's oppression and gaining ultimate power could one ever truly be perfect and wield full control of the force, after all. Odd though, that even if you did reach perfection, you were still in some senses a slave to the force. Perhaps his notions of freedom were just as deluded as hers. He brushed aside his doubts. No. _The Force shall free me_. At some point Anakin led his friends in discussion of hatching some impossibly elaborate scheme to free all the slaves on the planet. If only they had a clearer focus for how they might grow in their freedom Maul might have considered assisting them. Anakin was determined though, not seeming to consider the possibility of failure. Maul liked this kid.

As Maul lay in bed that evening, he realised he had been too distracted to probe about the Jedi. He had felt in his element, maybe even enjoying himself. At this thought, his mind flashed back to his time at the academy, to Kilindi’s motionless corpse, her expression of shock and betrayal forever frozen, and his jaw clenched tightly in anger. He could not let his guard down again. The Sith might encourage enjoyment, attachment even, but he knew nothing good can come of friendship.


	10. Chapter 10

Shmi had not had an opportunity to open the leather cylinder since she had received it that day in the shop. Much as she loved her house guests, and she truly was enjoying their company, they seemed to be omnipresent, and for this, she could not afford to be disturbed. Qui Gon was in his room, sleeping, still healing from his fight with the dragon, but the others were away somewhere in town, Anakin had dragged them all off, talking about building a spaceship. It was a shame that they were both chipped, it would have been wonderful to see him fly away from this life. Shmi however, only had so much time to deal with this package. Quickly checking that Qui Gon was asleep, she opened the secret panel in the wall. The little cubby hole was jam packed with odd objects, most of them weapons, or defensive items of some description. There were a number of half completed circuit boards, as well as what seemed like an entire shelf of ordinary objects, including a necklace not unlike the one Anakin wore. The leather cylinder was easy to find. Shmi closed the panel behind her, and, taking a deep breath of anticipation, popped open the top. There was a scroll of writing, with an incomprehensible mix of letters on it. Shmi tipped the rest of the contents of the cylinder into her hand, three small, etched rings fell out. At least they had given her the key this time. Shmi was tired of receiving codes which held absolutely no indication as to how they were coded. She was intelligent enough, and had eventually built a decoder. The rings suggested that they knew that she would, and Shmi guessed she should be flattered that they thought of her as intelligent, but instead just felt oddly manipulated. She picked up the rings, read off the etchings, entered the numbers, and waited for her decoder to set itself up.

Translating the message took longer than Shmi would have liked. She anxiously checked in on Qui Gon every few minutes. It absolutely was necessary to keep everything a secret, they were, as far as they knew, the only revolutionary group that had truly evaded the eye of the authorities. They had an interplanetary reach, a large network of secrecy and organisation, who were, slowly but surely, working their way up through tiny, well organised acts of violence and political blackmail or manipulation. Their aim was simple, to free all the slaves in the galaxy. Shmi very strongly believed in the cause. She had seen the failings of the system to help people like herself. Her determination had only grown stronger too, after Anakin was born. The republic, with all their laws, and their pretence at morality and power, had so far been unsuccessful in this very simple goal. Shmi wasn't sure if it was corruption or incompetence. Either way, they were failing. Shmi had no idea how many revolutionaries had been recruited on Tatooine, but it certainly sounded like there was a lot. She received messages every now and then. Instructions. There had been a time, when she had almost had her own freedom, with Pi-Lippa, and she had been in the centre of it all, a leader almost, knowing everything that was going on. Anakin’s father was still involved in the revolution, she believed. Not that he had any right to the term father, he was nothing more than genetics to Anakin. Shmi had never even told her son anything about him. Nor did she intend to. Maybe one day Anakin might join the revolution, and he could do without knowing what kind of man his father was.

Ever since the party from Naboo had arrived, Shmi had considered asking them to join her. The risk of exposure was low, with the exception of Jar Jar, everyone could be totally trusted to secrecy. Shmi trusted her own judgement of character, if they joined, it seemed likely that many of them would be willing to fight and die for the cause. Having the Queen of the Naboo on their side, would be massive. Although, it wasn’t entirely clear whether Padme still was queen. From what they had determined, it seemed that an imposter had taken her place, seemingly however, using their power for good, calling for a vote of no confidence in Chancellor Valorum which had led to their Chancellor Palpatine getting into power. Shmi had no idea if that was better, but her houseguests seemed settled that it would improve things on Naboo, so she took it as a good sign. Certainly it had led to a large reduction in their urgency to leave. In fact, many of them seemed to really be settling into the ways of the desert planet. Shmi went again to check on the sleeping Jedi. She let herself imagine for a second asking him to stay. His influence, his skills and experience being used to free the slaves of this planet. How wonderful it would be. How much safer she would feel with him at her side. And knowing that someone would be there for Anakin should anything happen to her. If only the code wasn’t so clear about remaining peaceful. Shmi wasn't entirely sure how much it would matter, she often wondered how much of the code Qui Gon actually agreed with.

Shmi sat down to read the message. It was long, filled with unnecessary detail. The actual task was deeply embedded in a page of general updates. It was a safety precaution that They had decided on. A code that could only be broken by the intended target, only they would know what information was relevant and what was not. If you were caught, the worst that would be uncovered would be a slave in possession of a letter. And of course she would be beaten. But not killed. And They would be protected. Still, it was frustrating in the moment. Sifting through long paragraphs of fictitious family members, hearing about the events of planets she had never visited. Mildly irritable, Shmi went through to the kitchen, to make herself a drink. As she was pouring the purple liquid into a glass, she heard a noise from the other room. Her mind flashed with panic. Shmi immediately put down everything she was holding, and rushed through, but she was too late. The Jedi was standing, still sickly looking, but only a metre away from the dining room table. His presence filled the room, and his eyes were alternating between the scroll, and Shmi’s horrified face.


	11. Chapter 11

“We love to drink with Obi, 'cause Obi is our mate, and when we drink with Obi he gets it down in eight, seven, six-” Obi Wan Kenobi was in a bar. Again. Surrounded by pilots, guards and a pretty handmaiden, a group of loyal servants of the republic. His friends? The chant, evidently universally known, got louder, and erupted into whooping and back slapping, as the young Jedi downed another drink. He coughed as he felt the fire as it went down his throat, the sensation as the drink hit him newly familiar, washing over him with dizzy heat. His head may have been foggy, but Obi Wan knew his behaviour lately had been a betrayal of the Jedi code. He also knew that he needed to think, deeply, about his loyalties and ideas. Obi Wan was feeling rather lost. It was odd that this mission had brought so much into question. Perhaps he had been ignoring it for some time. It was hard to tell, as the Jedi did, after all, practise repression. Someday soon he would find a quiet place and meditate. But right now, he was drunk. This was not a time for thinking. 

The bar they had chosen was dimly lit, and the sound of ‘The Sequential Passage of Chronological Intervals’ was blaring loudly from speakers behind the bar. The group had commandeered a corner booth, sensibly far enough from the music that they could hear themselves talk. “Where are the others?” Obi Wan asked, and he received light laughter from the group. Had he asked before? He couldn’t remember. “Some of them have gone for a girls night, whatever that involves,” Rabe replied, from her seat on Porro’s lap. His arms were round her waist, holding her. The two appeared to Obi Wan as one large person with two heads. Two heads that kept touching, and kissing. Ric noticed him staring, and, misunderstanding why Obi Wan was so entranced, he leant close, and asked straightforwardly, “have you ever had anyone like that Obi?” Almost every head at the table turned, subtly, curious to hear the response. The table was quieter than it had been all night. “Yeah. I have.” he said to the group in a hushed voice. Obi Wan was suddenly emotional. Or maybe he was just drunk, it was hard to tell, but he found himself on the edge of tears all the same. The whole table was curious, and Obi Wan could sense sympathy, pity. Even intoxicated, Obi Wan was instinctively in touch with the force. But tonight was not the night to think, if anything, the opposite. So he said dismissively, “it was a while ago.” Even Ric, with his usual lack of restraint, did not push the issue. The talking resumed, a blurred mix of laughing and passionate storytelling, and Obi Wan stared into the middle distance, feeling far more than he usually did, and gulping down some more of his lumpy, orange drink.

The door to the bar swung open, and in fell a cluster of human girls, entangled in each other’s arms affectionately. They were tipsy, and each had elaborate hairstyles. The regulars looked on with disapproving curiosity, but Obi Wan’s table waved them over, pulling up more stools to their already cramped booth. The girls looked unquestionably beautiful. Padme and Sabe had dressed the same, in short green dresses that they had picked out together at a local market. They looked identical in every way, matching each element of their jewelry, makeup and hair alike. It seemed from their attitude that this was entirely for fun. Dinee led the group, her mature age making her seem more maternal than she actually felt. The other pilots looked pleasantly shocked to see their fellow pilot out of her usual grimy, oil-stained work clothes. All the girls were having fun. This trip to Tatooine served as a little bubble of freedom, in what had so far been hard lives of duty and public service. Padme and Obi Wan exchanged a look. Neither had seen the other acting like this before. In a mutual feeling of reassurance at shirking their duties, Padme winked at Obi Wan. He lifted his glass to the queen, accidentally sloshing some of it onto his sleeve. Embarrassed, he tried ineffectually to cover it up. Padme nudged Sabe, and the pair started giggling, whispering to each other.

The return of the girls lifted the mood further. They pulled some of the pilots to their feet, dancing in a group. To his right, Obi Wan could see Porro and Rabe affectionately entangled, teasingly flicking the scum from their drinks at each other. To his left, Ric was telling a dramatic tale of his life as a commercial pilot, recalling a time he had been transporting some nobility, only to find out they were spice smugglers on the run. Obi Wan was half listening, his mind somewhere else. It was a while before anything really cut through his haze. Surprisingly, of all people, it was Quarsh, the most serious of the group, head of security, lifelong servant to the Naboo, whose voice unexpectedly caught Obi Wan’s attention. He was talking comfortably with one of his guard friends. They seemed a little more sober than Obi Wan, and were chatting about their plans back on Naboo. They seemed resigned. Although joking, Quarsh’s words held a truth that many of them had been feeling. “Maybe we should just stay here.” There was a moment of hopeful silence from some of the group. Obi Wan brushed past the suggestion in his mind. They couldn’t possibly. Could they?

Somewhere else in town, Qui Gon was still recovering from his injury. Obi Wan knew he should have been at his side, aiding, but Shmi seemed content to spend all her time caring for the Jedi, and Obi Wan did not want to overstep. To his credit, the young apprentice had tried, initially staying with Qui Gon all day, doing as much as he could, but, such was Shmi’s care, he had soon felt like a spare part, and it seemed for the best that he took her advice and just visited occasionally. He was additionally reassured as Shmi had promised to contact him if anything happened. It was fortunate for them all that Watto had decided to be kind, allowing her to take her work home, as long as she and Anakin did not fall behind. Shmi was more than happy sitting by the Jedi’s side as she worked, contentedly focused as she built and fixed obscure parts of spaceships and rewired faulty droids. The first few days had been stressful, Shmi had been concerned when Qui Gon’s bruises had started looking much worse before getting better, and it became abundantly clear that some of his ribs were broken. He was in massive pain, although he spent so much of his time asleep or in meditation. Shmi began to wonder how much he actually felt. He was often too tired to provide much conversation, although he did watch her work. And the silence was never uncomfortable. He recovered fast, and it did appear that the Jedi were able to use some sort of force healing. Either that, or meditation as a cure should certainly be more widely prescribed. It had been nearly a week since the incident, and Qui Gon had begun pottering around the house, still exhausted, but joining everyone at the table for meals.

Qui Gon’s injury had also given them an excuse to not talk about what he’d seen. Shmi knew he could sense her hiding something, but she wasn’t ready to discuss it with him. Seeing him weak, injured, she had actually felt afraid of him dying. It was a concern that she never predicted she would feel. He had seemed so self sufficient, so in control. Since the outlanders had come to the planet, Shmi had been wanting them to join, but she was beginning to have second thoughts. It didn’t help her fears that Qui Gon had begun talking of something dark in the force. He described it as something unnaturally strong, something intangible, but wrong. He was very vague on the details, but he always spoke with a deep sincerity, and concern. Shmi’s thoughts naturally dwelled on the worst case scenarios, of Anakin being punished, killed even, for the part she was playing in the revolution. She knew it would definitely be better with Jedi on their side. But she still couldn’t push aside the images of Qui Gon’s limp, fragile body, covered with blood. 

Jar Jar had also been milling around, although his presence was far from helpful. C-3PO and R2-D2 had been making a grand effort to teach the ungainly gungan some local manners, under Anakin’s instruction, as he had almost got himself killed on many occasions. He usually followed Anakin to work, or joined in with his friends, but Watto had temporarily banned him from the shop, due to his unfortunate tendency to break everything he touched. He had tried to help Shmi, but had been asked to stop that too, after he broke part of a motivator that Shmi had been working on for hours. R2 had joked that he might be better suited to waste disposal, but the droid's suggestion had gone ignored. Feeling familiarly despondent, Jar Jar had started going on walks on his own. Shmi did not have the energy lately to worry about the gungan’s whereabouts.


	12. Chapter 12

Maul actually felt some excitement when he woke this morning. He had made plans to help the slave children with their project, and he was somewhat nervous. It had been so enjoyable last time. Undressing, with the care and efficiency he always took, Maul washed himself, in the bathroom he shared with the other guests at the inn. Rushing, he redressed, intent to head out to his spaceship, which was parked on the edge of town. Entering the dark interior, he was greeted by the beeps of his three little droids. They flew around him happily, bashing into each other as he cooed at them. Thank the gods his master was not here to see this. “Perhaps you’ll come with me soon.” He said reassuringly as they bickered and complained about his absence. Maul’s affectionate side had been growing. His affection for the droids was becoming something beyond the power-focused, clinical appreciation of their efficiency. Spending time with the children had brought out an unlikely element of himself. And Darth Maul was feeling passion. A deep protective urge, a desire to help, to build. The Sith were encouraged to pursue passions. Perhaps this was one he could develop without betraying the code. Passion would bring him strength. Power. The children were, as a collective, far from weak. Maul had uncovered elements of their exploits, and from their endless anecdotes of past missions, it was easy to deduce that they were determined, resilient, always ultimately successful. They were not as accepting of mediocrity as they seemed. They were prepared to fight for a better life, unlike many habitants of the planet, and their anger at their oppressors was evident. Maul idly rested his hand on one of his droids, and whispered, “I’ve got some new companions, you should meet them.” 

Maul left a brief message for his master, explaining his progress in the mission. His face was concealed by his long hood, and he spoke as little as possible, whilst duly maintaining the utmost respect. Sidious would not accept failure, and Maul did not wish to delay his master any further. He didn’t really have a plan, beyond bonding with the children. But Maul was not overly concerned. He was powerful with the force and he could sense that the Jedi were somewhere nearby. Their naivety and their compassion always led them to exposing themselves, he merely had to wait. Maul had no intention of failing. 

Childishly excited, the Sith meandered back into town, mood suddenly dampened as he was once again hit by the unpleasant sensations of people. His senses became overwhelmed with unpleasantness. He could feel a barrage of emotions through the force, in addition to the smells and sounds. He cut less of a distinctive image nowadays, as he cut through the street. He still wore the same black robes, but he no longer carried his lightsaber in clear view. His presence was also less intimidating, he no longer hissed or gave threatening stares. No longer seething with quite as much anger. The meat seller recognised him as he passed, and raised a hand in greeting. Maul responded in kind, lifting a gloved hand, with only minimal resentment, as he sped on his way to meet the children. 

Anakin’s friends circled him the moment he entered the view of the spacecraft. Padame stood, further back, with Jar Jar, but smiled all the same, to see the Zabrak arriving. Anakin and Kitster each grabbed a gloved hand, and pulled their new friend over, to see their new design for a wing-part. Padme made a comment complimenting the young boy on his work, and Maul noticed Anakin’s round cheeks flush red. Padme was right though. It was impressive work, the boy was indeed talented. The day was remarkably similar. Maul, removing his cloak and gloves, working in silence as far as possible, Jar Jar getting bored. Teasing, kind laughter, noises of frustration, gossip, Maul paid none of it much attention, and soon the suns were setting. “Uh oh,” said Anakin, “I promised mum I’d be home for dinner.” The boy looked guilty, which was only added to by Padme’s comments of, ‘you shouldn’t worry your mother’ and ‘she’s been so kind’. Maul wasn’t sure exactly what Anakin’s mother had done to earn this title of ‘kind’ but grunted in agreement at the sentiment, adding his contribution to the sea of noise, as he felt this was expected of him. What was unanticipated though, was the small blonde boy approaching him, looking up, wide eyed, and asking, “would you like to come to dinner?” Anakin paused for a second, and his face looked thoughtful, “I don’t really know what you eat.”

Shmi was not the first to greet Maul as he entered the hovel. A polite mechanical voice said, “oh my,” as he saw the shadowed face, and long flowing robes of the Sith. “I don’t believe we have been introduced, I am C3-PO, human-cyborg relations, and I must say I am very honoured to meet another friend of Master Anakin’s.” Maul said nothing. Yellow eyes were visible, under the hood, glaring at the golden robot. R2-D2 bleeped a friendly bleep in addition. Maul’s patterned lips twitched up slightly, smiling a little in response. “Hi there,” Maul grunted, looking at the smaller droid, and R2 bleeped happily, rolling out of the room after his companion, 3PO audibly muttering, “speak for yourself, he doesn’t appear very friendly at all.” 

The dinner table was crowded in the Skywalker home tonight, and the children were energetic, chatty, hungry from their day working on the spaceship. Maul was uncertain as he sat down, even more so as Shmi presented him with a hunk of charred meat. He kept his cloak on, removing his gloves, but hood concealing most of his face, allowing him to hide his discomfort. Thankfully though, Shmi did not provide the level of interrogation that Maul had grown accustomed to receiving from the group. Padme also was considerate. She noticed the Sith’s reserved body language, and occasionally flashed him a reassuring smile, pouring him drinks without request, diplomatically deflecting some of the comments thrown his way. Shmi was curious though. Although Anakin was very kind hearted, and open to strangers- as evident by the group of outlanders now living in their home, Maul did not seem like his usual type. The man was silent for the almost entire meal, and there was an air of something threatening that Shmi couldn’t place. But he seemed nervous, trying to eat discreetly, and despite her instincts, Shmi would never like to be judgemental without reason. 

Shmi asked Maul directly, “what are you doing on Tatooine?” The question, although just ordinary small talk, caught the brooding Sith off guard. “I’m on a mission,” he responded honestly, in his deep gravelly voice. Shmi knew better than to ask for details. “Is it going well?” she asked instead. Maul looked at her, non-threateningly, and swallowed, “I hope so.” Since they had entered her home, Maul could sense something, nearby. Frustratingly nearby. Maul wondered if he should search the hovel, see if he could find any clues. Without delay, Maul was half stood up, when Padme grabbed his attention, “I’m really glad you could join us. I know this is probably unfamiliar for you.” Maul sat back down, embarrassed. Had he acted wrongly? Had he broken some social convention he was unaware of? Padme seemed so dignified. It was uncomfortable that she was accurate in her observation, eating with others was not a regular occurrence for Maul. Even at the academy, he had been largely independent, Kilindi being the only one who ever sat with him, and she wasn’t judgemental. As always, Maul’s hearts felt a jolt of pain, and his eyes glossed over in rage at the thought of her name. He sipped his drink hastily to cover the reaction.

A noise from behind a closed door took Maul’s attention. He found himself springing up, hand on his lightsaber, sensing something, unsure as to what. Shmi placed a hand on his arm, steadily guiding him back down into his seat. She moved past him, and the Sith watched carefully as she slipped through the door, closing it behind her with a firm, distrusting look at Maul. He closed his eyes, reaching out through the force, trying to sense what was going on behind the door. He could feel the children looking at him, the table had fallen silent. “What’s going on in there?” Maul asked. Aimee responded, “it’s just a friend of the Skywalkers, he was hurt so he sometimes sleeps through dinner.” Maul exhaled through his nostrils. A friend? A Jedi? Finally, he was close to his mission. Maul was seething slightly at the mere metres separating him from success. The rage built, and Maul stood once more, striding over to the door, hands regloved, mind focussed by passion. Before he reached the door, Anakin stood before him, fearless, childhood innocence emanating. The boy sensed Maul’s anger and was worried. His eyebrows knotted together as he looked up at the Zabrak. His friend seemed upset. Anakin took the Sith by surprise as he reacted by running over to hug him. Maul’s focus was taken as he felt the small arms wrap around him. His anger dissipated, and he gently placed a hand on the back of the Anakin's head. The mission could wait another day. Waiting wasn’t failure. Once again Maul was surprised by how his feelings betrayed him. He did not want to hurt the child. It was odd. Was he himself not made stronger by pain? By loss? Shmi rejoined the table, followed immediately by Qui Gon, who seemed healthier than before. There was a flurry of material, and the Sith was gone.


	13. Chapter 13

The message said to meet at the Bestine bank. And to be armed. Shmi had done both of these things and was now anxious, waiting to meet her partner, positioned just out of sight of the security guards. Shmi held her breath, jumping every time she saw a shadow move. A person wearing a tight red leather jacket, and slanted hat, appeared in the gloom. They paused, noticing the grey-clothed mother hiding in the shadows, and Shmi’s nerves were on edge as the figure approached her. Once they were both completely hidden from view, the stranger, her partner for this mission, flashed her a small medallion, emblazoned with the same design as on the lid of the leather cylinder which had contained the instructions. She nodded in acknowledgement, fear only increasing with the close proximity of the stranger. Shmi was never confident on missions. As much as she was experienced, she was not a natural soldier, she lacked the calm courage of many of the other revolutionaries. Shmi was far happier to build equipment, or to help with strategy. Late-night meetings with strangers, mere metres from thug-like, violent guards, were not how she wanted to contribute to the cause. She looked over at her partner. They were young, pretty, a tattoo stretching across one cheek, eyes still possessing the youthful optimism that had been worn out of Shmi. Shmi sighed, and they got to work on their objective.

The mission itself went off successfully. The stranger brought a cluster of small bombs, and the pair were able to position them such that they would destroy the walls of the vault. The bombs were designed such that they would destroy all of the money inside. Their goal was to prevent the sale of some slave children, who were being brought into the planet in the next week. It was only a tiny part of the splattering of actions the revolution were taking currently, intended to destabilise the slave market. If slavery was seen as risky trade financially, with buyers unable to pay for their goods, the demand would decrease, and traders would stop picking up new slaves to sell. The traders in the outer rim care only about profit. Destroying the money instead of stealing it made their point completely clear, this was not a random theft. Somebody was targeting the slave money. This was an act of revolution. Selling slaves was not going to be as easy in the future.

It was after the explosion that things had gone wrong. Shmi and the stranger had found a hiding place, a safe distance from the bombs, hidden but still within close sight of the explosion. They were now sprinting away from said hiding place, mission successful. Shmi had a transport parked a little way from the bank. She had borrowed it from Watto’s shop, pretending that she was taking it home for repairs. Shmi seemed far too honest, and too worn down, for Watto to ever suspect deceit. Shmi was running, her sturdy legs kicking up small clouds of sand as her feet pelted the ground. She was fast despite her age. Life as a slave left her perpetually tired, but it had its benefits all the same. She was stronger, and fitter than she would have been otherwise. At some point her partner had changed direction, but Shmi was barely aware of it. The two had barely spoken beyond necessity, and Shmi’s caring for their safety was, in this moment, outweighed by her own massive fear of capture. She was relieved they had got away though. As she rounded the final corner, she could see her transport parked, ready and waiting for her to leap on and speed home. Shmi suddenly halted. She threw herself flat against the wall, her body hurting somewhat from the impact, and prayed that the darkness would conceal her. There was a Gamorrean guard standing over her transport, waiting, axe clearly visible in his hairy, green hand. Shmi cursed silently, snatching quiet breaths as she calmed herself down. She needed to focus. She needed to think. 

Shmi had mistakenly presumed that the explosion would draw the attention of all the guards, but she had underestimated them. Shmi was now faced with a surprisingly intelligent, although thuggish, Gamorrean. And he could smell her. Shmi’s hand was resting on the blaster in her belt, trigger finger ready, although she had little intention of using it. Shmi only had a few moments to think. She could hear the guard snorting, sniffing the air with his snout, and making indistinct noises in his native Gammorrese. Great. More guards. Shmi began to climb the wall next to her. It was a last resort, barely a solution, but it was just possible that the guards would forget to look up, and in their confusion, she might get a few seconds to sprint away to the transport. When she was a little way off the ground, Shmi stopped, clutching the wall and holding her breath, strong arms shaking slightly with the adrenaline. Her hands were sweaty and she could feel the lack of friction under her fingers, but the grip was strong enough to hold her. Three guards rounded the corner, short and stocky, tusked faces tilted upwards. Shmi guessed that they could smell her fear, she had a momentary feeling of confused envy as her brain got distracted by the thought. Heightened smell really was a very helpful ability. Shmi stayed still as she could, shrouded by darkness, tension in her body building, as she readied herself to spring forwards, the moment an opportunity presented itself. And that it did. The guards had moved onwards, just a little, confused why the scent seemed not to have an owner. Shmi leapt through the air ungracefully, and she felt the full impact of the ground on her aged bones, legs compressing as her feet thudded on the hard sand. Shmi was an arm’s reach from her transport, almost free, when she felt the sharp prod of metal in her back. A man’s voice spoke from somewhere near her shoulder, uncomfortably close, and sneering. “Going somewhere, sweetheart?”

Shmi had told Qui Gon that she was going to the bank. He really was a city boy. Any local would have responded with confusion, yet it didn’t occur to him to ask why she was going. Slaves on Tatooine were not allowed to own material possessions, let alone have a bank account. Whatever they acquired was technically the property of their owners. She felt a little guilty for not telling the Jedi what she was doing, but she convinced herself that because she didn’t need his help with this, there was no need to get him involved, it would simply put him at risk. Consequently, Qui Gon was asleep. The Jedi was sleeping peacefully when suddenly felt a deep sense of unease in the force. He woke and sat up abruptly, to find a concerned Anakin standing sheepishly in his doorway. “Anakin?” He said softly. The young boy walked forward uncertainly, his face screwed up in distress. Qui Gon noticed the boy’s cheeks were wet with tears. “I had a dream about mom. She was in danger.” Anakin was biting the corner of his mouth and fingers were pulling with the edge of his tunic with agitation. In the darkness, Padme also awoke, silently observing. “Unfortunately I think your dream might be more than it seems. I felt something too.” Qui Gon patted the bed next to him and Anakin immediately sat down, burying his face into the Jedi’s side. “It’s going to be okay,” he soothed, stroking the boy’s golden hair. “She said she was going to the bank? Do you think you can tell me how to get there?” Anakin nodded, curling up more, hiding himself under the Jedi’s arm. Anakin spoke in a small voice, “she seemed so scared.”

The next events were a blur. Qui Gon insisted that Anakin stay behind with Padme, and he was obedient, four eyes watching, as the Jedi tore out of the door, leaving the pair behind. Commandeering an unattended speeder, Qui Gon coursed down the main street, and flew off into the night, gaining distance on the planet’s capital. Anakin’s instructions were good, and, in addition, Qui Gon’s instincts allowed him to move inhumanly fast, reacting to every turn with ease. Qui Gon’s head was spinning slightly in worry, although, as he approached the bank, his emotions fell away to a focused calm.

To her pride, the guard now had a black eye, and a cut cheek, and was even more vile in demeanour than before. Her hands were bound to the wall behind her back, and the man was in the cell with her. From what she could tell, the two of them were alone. The man wore metal armour on his torso, muscular arms and shoulders exposed, and he had oily black hair, plaited away from his dirty forehead, which only served to add to his distrustful appearance. He squatted in front of Shmi, their faces barely inches apart. Shmi shuddered, and turned her head, disgusted, as she felt his breath against her skin. He grabbed her face with his hand, dirty fingernails pressing into her skin. He showed his teeth as he threatened her. “Oh sweetheart. I do hope you feel like talking. It would be such a shame if we had to do something to help you.” Shmi, of course, had no intention of saying anything. She was a little afraid, but mostly just resigned, to the inevitable course that tonight would take. The man’s fingers roughly brushed aside her hair, checking her neck to see if she was chipped. “Wonderful.” He said sarcastically when he saw the scar. “Well, I guess you better tell me everything then, before your master finds out you’re missing.” 

Shmi could taste blood in her mouth, as the back of the man's hand collided once again with her face. The threat of the chip exploding in her head didn’t loosen her tongue in the way that the man wanted, and his disappointment was evident. He sneered a stream of threats at the tired slave mother, occasionally manhandling her. But Shmi was silent, making no noise beyond exhaling, even as he struck her repeatedly. “Eurgh!” he cried out in frustration. “You filthy little rat. Just tell me who you’re working for.” The man took a pause, drawing in a deep breath, and stepped backwards in defeated exasperation as Shmi stared silently back at him, face blank, eyes refusing to acknowledge that he’d even spoken. The man drew a knife from somewhere deep in his clothing, and held it out in front of him. “I bet you’re not going to look so pretty when I’m done with you.” he threatened. The man used the tip of the blade to trace a line across Shmi’s cheek, drawing a thin line of blood in its path. “I think I might start by cutting up your face, as you don’t seem to be using it to talk.” His face froze suddenly, smirk falling, as a green light illuminated the room. A deep voice, with a lilting accent, spoke softly behind him. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The man whipped round, and, in doing so, pulled Shmi’s blaster from his belt. Before he could shoot, his body fell to its knees, head falling backwards to the floor, no longer connected to its neck. Qui Gon put his lightsaber away, and immediately crouched down, undoing Shmi’s bindings. Shmi tried to thank him, but found herself unable to meet the Jedi’s eye. Qui Gon offered her an arm, and helped her to her feet, picking up the fallen blaster and passing it to her wordlessly, still not looking at Shmi. He stood and stopped momentarily to mourn the dead man, then proceeded to stride confidently out of the door, without waiting to check if Shmi was following.

The Jedi was silent on the way home, and Shmi felt a profound guilt. “Qui Gon.” she said at last, “please speak.” Her tone was pleading, hurt. Shmi had never seen the Jedi angry, and she doubted rationally that he had even felt that emotion since he was a child, yet she felt so small under his stony silence. After a moment Qui Gon responded, speaking slowly and softly, staring straight ahead at the road, and forming the words with some difficulty. “I worry about you.” His voice broke slightly, catching in his throat as he spoke. Shmi was shocked to hear the vulnerability in the Jedi’s voice. A rush of emotion filled her chest, replacing her fear with the resonance of his hurt, and her tired eyes watered slightly. Shmi tightened her grip around Qui Gon’s waist as his voice picked up in speed and passion. He continued, barely audible, in the same vulnerable tone. “And Anakin. Even more so with that new friend. I can sense something dark in the force. And I know you have your secrets. But I worry about you both.” Qui Gon paused, and the silence held a mutual tension between the two of them, heavy with emotion. “You seemed so spooked that night after he came to dinner, and I know you don’t feel like you can talk about what’s going on but-” Shmi was silent, “I just-” Qui Gon’s shoulders drooped. “I don’t know. This is important to you, whatever it is that's going on here. And I want you to know. I would never try to tell you to stop doing something important because it’s dangerous. No matter how much I worry.” he paused, stopping the speeder, and turned round, looking her in the eyes for the first time since the rescue. He gave her a half smile. “I’m sorry.” Qui Gon raised a hand to her wounded cheek and gently caressed her jaw with his thumb. “I just worry about you.” Shmi looked him deeply in the eyes, heart fluttering with guilt and regret. “I should have told you what I was doing. I just-” Shmi smiled affectionately back, appreciating the irony. She laced her fingers between his, and rested her head against his chest. “I worry about you too.” she whispered.


	14. Chapter 14

“You alright there Obi?” Quarsh asked him, realising the Jedi hadn’t absorbed a single word he was saying, and was staring, blank faced into his breakfast. The words registered, and, snapping slightly out of his daze, Obi Wan looked up, pushing the brown sludge around his bowl with a fork. “I think I need to go somewhere to think.” he responded. Ric’s hand clapped him on the back, “I’ll take you. Where do you want to go?” Obi Wan wasn’t entirely sure. Somewhere quiet. Jedi often found themselves in caves, seeking out peaceful places to meditate, to further foster their connection with the force. “Do you know any good caves?” he asked hopefully. “Actually I do.” The answer took Obi Wan somewhat by surprise. “There’s some not far from here, Mos Espa is very conveniently near pretty much every geological feature that this planet has to offer. It’s actually a pretty great location to build a town. Still no water though. Pretty unfortunate.” Ric continued, “caves-wise though, I mean, there’s always the ones that krayt dragon was hiding in? Although I’m guessing the sand people will have set up there, now that your master’s gone and sorted it all out for them.” Obi Wan murmured in agreement. Quarsh chimed in, “there’s some on the edge of the Dune Sea, not far from town, maybe they’ll be a bit more peaceful.” That seemed good. Everyone but Obi Wan seemed to have acquired a lot of local knowledge in the past few weeks. While he was grateful to Ric for offering him a lift, but it did make him feel a little insecure to see his companions doing such a good job of finding work, of being self-sufficient. The thought made Obi Wan uncomfortable. Hopefully after today it would all be resolved.

Obi Wan and Ric squeezed themselves into Ric’s rickety little plane. It wouldn’t be capable of making it off world, but it was helpful for getting around the planet. Ric occasionally offered lifts to travelers who had just landed on the planet, providing a sort of taxi service, transporting them between bars and inns. His years of commercial piloting meant he was very competent, and had already built up a good reputation locally. He was particularly willing to assist those who were very rich, or very beautiful. “I know the Jedi Order means everything to you.” Ric said, unprompted, as they were sat together in the plane. “And I know that you’re going away to think, and you’re going to come back, dedicated as ever to the force, and to your duty, and all of that. And on some level, you know, I think I get it. I mean, we all make sacrifices for the Republic. Although there’s no way I could ever give all that up. No attachments? No emotions? No thank you. I think you’re all a bit insane. Anyhow. I just wanted to say, before you come back and don’t care anymore. I’m glad you gave normal life a try. And I’m glad we were here to see it with you.” Ric smiled at him, and Obi Wan smiled back. “I’m glad I did too, oddly. It’s been fun. Thank you. All of you have been so kind to me, and I am sorry to leave it behind, I just know I need to do this.” The two men, dressed as they were, in normal attire, and talking so casually, could easily have passed as brothers on an outing. The scene was so far removed from their lives back home in the Republic. Ric flew the plane with expert skill, and they zoomed across town, suns scorching up ahead, wind whipping through the holes in the rundown aircraft. They stopped at the outskirts of the Dune Sea, and Ric turned, to impart a few final words onto his young friend. “I know we don’t agree. And I really hope you know what you’re doing, because in general, the Jedi can get lost with their crazy ideas. But I do respect you Obi Wan Kenobi. You’re a good person, and you'll always be that.”

Obi Wan walked into the darkness of the cave, focusing only on the force, steadying his breathing, mind present. He had been trained since he was a small child, and Obi Wan found a lot of comfort in meditation. He had never known life without it. Giving himself entirely to the Jedi order had come completely naturally to him. He sat on the floor, and with a focussed effort, he let his brain consider the behaviours that he had been engaging in lately. In the cold light of retrospect, they paled in significance to the importance of the Jedi order. Much as he’d enjoyed it, and furthermore, enjoyed the notion of living the rest of his life that way, it just wasn’t right. Not being a Jedi meant being free to do as he pleased, selecting elements at will, to create his own code, his own morality. It meant a happiness that Obi Wan was likely never going to feel again. Deeply in his gut, Obi Wan craved the connection that came with attachment, with relationships. The ability to trust the people around him to take care of him in the way he wanted to take care of them. Just a hint of dependency. To feel such a range of emotions. And to share those emotions with others, hold onto them, not just let them evaporate away, under a deep dedication to the force. Just the glimpse that he had sampled had satisfied some urge deep inside of him. It had felt good. Obi Wan lay down on the floor, his head resting against the cold, hard rock. He felt pain as he allowed the emotions to flow through him, as he let them go. Being a Jedi required sacrifice. It was a pain he’d experienced before. And a pain he had let go of before. He had sacrificed so much. But it was not about his happiness. This life, this duty, it meant more. He was dedicated to something that was right. Obi Wan’s head cleared and he felt the peace deeply in his body, as his senses gave in entirely to the force. One singular goal. A code. This was right.

Having made his decision with surprising ease, Obi Wan spent the whole day meditating. It was inevitable that Obi Wan would find his way back to the Jedi Order, just as he had done when leaving Satine those many years ago, but it was almost suspicious how easily he let go of his wants. His feelings. His mind was blank, and he felt nothing but peace. Jedi apprentices were taught to spend any moment they had spare meditating. Nothing else fostered as deep a connection to the living force.   
He felt Qui Gon’s presence before he saw him, and he bowed deeply as he stood to greet his master. “Master.” Obi Wan greeted him respectfully. “You seem to be doing better.” The older Jedi was certainly healthier. He seemed almost completely recovered from his wounds, although there was a new scar across his face that was unlikely to heal. “My young padawan. You also seem to be recovered.” Qui Gon looked on his apprentice knowingly, and Obi Wan, renewed with calm and integrity, was ready to confess. “Master, I have acted against the code. I have been foolish. Naive. I even began to question the Jedi order.” Obi Wan bowed deeply, and began to list his thoughts and actions against the code, apologising for the shame that he had brought upon himself, his master, the entire Jedi order. 

Qui Gon listened patiently, making space for his apprentice to say his piece. Responding after a while, Qui Gon said, with a reassuring tone, “I know.” “And master, I know it’s not my place to disagree with you about the boy, and I know I’ve said my opinion before but I honestly do not think Anakin should be trained. His talents would not be wasted elsewhere, his Jedi reflexes would make him a gifted pilot. Valuable to the Republic even, should he choose to leave his mother. He is simply too old, too emotional, and too attached to the world around him. I don’t think he will be able to give up with ease what he has spent his life accustomed to. I know that he is eager to become a Jedi, but I don’t think he understands what it would involve. He’s just a child.” Obi Wan paused, then added, “I worry also master, that your affection for his mother is clouding your judgement.” Obi Wan was not ashamed at his last comment. It was honest and straightforward. Qui Gon had been an excellent mentor, a good and kind master, and Obi Wan was thankful, there was no doubt that his master had more than earned his respect, but Obi Wan’s dedication to the upholding of the Jedi code was more important than everything, and his master seemed to have wavered from that dedication. Qui Gon looked down at his apprentice with a disapproving strength, a wisdom resembling power. “You have much to learn, my young padawan.” Qui Gon paused. He lowered himself to the ground, and Obi Wan sat down next to him. 

The two Jedi sat side by side, both staring into the middle distance. “I know you disagree, and I do hear you, truly. You are a good man and a good Jedi, Obi Wan Kenobi. The council would be proud to hear you express yourself like this. But my mind is unchanged, as you know, and there is little more I can say. I hope you will discover your own path someday. The force is far more powerful than any of us, and the council is not always correct. There are some things that I simply must do.” Qui Gon had criticised the council’s decisions before, but never quite so directly. Hearing the determination in his master’s voice Obi Wan could feel his view of his master shifting in his mind. Obi Wan had never felt more keenly connected with the Jedi Order, more so, it seemed, than his master. “Obi Wan, I need to honour my duty to the force. To train this child. The Jedi council is not beyond criticism. Ideas evolve over time, and the council is no exception to this. There is more being a Jedi, more to the force, than is contained within the rules of the council. I have made my decision, and I will be informing the council as soon as we can make safe contact.” Obi Wan felt an odd detachment from his master as he absorbed his words. Obi Wan’s mind was firm, certain in its resolve. It was not his place to disagree with the council, duty to the Jedi Order meant duty to the council. If Qui Gon intended to defy them, to leave, then himself and Qui Gon would simply part ways. He had let go of all attachment, anything he may have felt towards the older man had left him. All that remained between the two of them was the duty that an apprentice had to his master, and vice versa. And that duty was conditional. Obi Wan’s reaction was neutral, unemotional, but not unkind, as he listened to his master continue, “Obi Wan. You are going to be a better Jedi, and a better man, than I will ever be. I am honoured to have watched you grow.” His master looked pained, more hurt and emotional than Obi Wan had seen him. He lacked peace, and the true self confidence that Obi Wan was accustomed to. Obi Wan suspected there was more behind Qui Gon’s words than he was saying upfront, but didn't dwell on it. “There is much more to life, more to the force even, than the Jedi Order. I hope you won’t come to judge me too harshly for my choices.”

The two Jedi walked side by side through the desert, heading back, towards their homes. It was strange, but Obi Wan felt more strongly linked to the Jedi order in that moment than he ever had previously. Mere hours ago, he had been questioning his loyalty, and yet, now he felt an increased depth in that loyalty. Hearing his master speak of straying had helped to clarify his feelings. He was refreshed with his own independence. Qui Gon was not a bad Jedi, certainly, and far from a bad person. There was no doubt that he would never stray as far as using the dark side of the force. But hearing him speaking out against the council made Obi Wan feel a detached defiance. A stronger loyalty of his own. The pair spoke more naturally now, as they walked, the air between them clearer than it had been for a little while. They made their way, comfortable, joking, sharing wisdom and insights. They conversed about the mission, Qui Gon had not been present in recent discussions, due to his injury, so there was plenty to discuss. While his apprentice and Padme had kept him informed, there had not been much opportunity for Qui Gon to contribute his opinions. Quarsh and Padme did seem to be in agreement though. That in itself was unusual. This planet was good for them. More and more they heard news of life in the republic, of the imposter, and how she was doing a competent job of ruling. Matters in the Republic were sensitive now, that it seemed the situation would only be worsened by the sudden reappearance of Padme. Lying low was now their mission objective. And it suited them wonderfully.


	15. Chapter 15

After the incident the other night, Shmi had decided to become a little more open about her activities in the revolution. She still hadn’t asked Qui Gon to join, or even talked in that much detail about the organisation. But she had at least explained, at long last, that she was part of a group who were trying to free the slaves. Shmi told him how they operated, that she essentially had nothing to do, until she was given orders. But, much like her son, Shmi had a tendency to build things, and it was these projects of her own that she was excited to show the Jedi. Qui Gon loved hearing her talk. It was a joy to see these rare glimpses of passion. He felt as though he was being let into something highly personal, something rare. Qui Gon only had a vague memory of the time he had spent injured, but he could remember the soothing tones of her voice. She had told many stories, while she was caring for him. She had begun to let him glimpse into the aspects her life. There was such an intimacy to the time they’d shared by his bedside, that Qui Gon began to imagine sharing his life with her. But, this, their speaking in full health, was different somehow. Knowing that neither one could brush it aside, or just pretend she hadn’t spoken, made it all the more precious.

Jar Jar and Qui Gon found themselves in town. Shmi had mentioned that she needed some material for one of the projects she was working on, and Qui Gon was keen to help. He wanted to make her life easier in any way he could. If he was honest with himself, this wasn’t just Jedi helpfulness, helping someone in need, or even because it was a good cause. This was, at least in part, to make her happy. The two entered Mos Espa’s fabric shop. Jar Jar immediately began picking up an assortment of colourful objects, as the Jedi looked around thoroughly searching for what they needed. The shop was small, cluttered, floor to ceiling, with rolls of fabric and random items. There was a small, purple creature with webbed feet and a long tail scuttling around freely between the fabric columns. From the collar, Qui Gon assumed it must be a pet. Jar Jar instinctively bent over to say hello to the small creature, but it just ignored his greeting, and the gungan retracted, shaking his head and exclaiming, “how wrude!” Qui Gon eventually found what he was looking for, and they made the purchase, shockingly, without the clumsy gungan creating any havoc. “I’m impressed. It seems you’re getting used to this planet.” Qui Gon said, his hand clapping Jar Jar’s large, orange shoulder, as they left the shop. He had spoken too soon. The gungan’s large ears flicked upwards in delight, being so unused to compliments. In doing so, naturally, he pushed over a roll of fabric which immediately began unveiling onto the floor, knocking a few more reels in its path. Jar Jar’s body slumped, dejected. He waited for the criticism that would inevitably come. Qui Gon took his arm and guided him gently away from the wreckage. Noticing his dejection, Qui Gon decided it wouldn’t do much good to reprimand him, especially not here and now. Instead, he opted for a pun. “It’s such a shame, I thought you were on a roll.” Jar Jar’s body reanimated itself, his over-exaggerated movements becoming ones of humour. Although it wasn’t clear he’d understood the joke, he appreciated the tone. Qui Gon was being kind to him.

The Skywalkers had been working for most of the day, as was usual for the slaves of Tatooine. Watto hadn’t set them too many tasks, and so he sent the pair home, far before sunsset. While Anakin went out to play, Shmi cooked. As was routine. She was skilled at her everyday chore, making a functional meal from what little they had available. There had been more variety in their diet since the arrival of the outlanders, more of everything, as Qui Gon and Padme were, of course, both gracious house guests. Shmi rolled a ball of ahrisa mixture under her soft palms, adding the spices liberally, and, once it was made, childishly tossed it in the air. The door to their house opened, and Shmi could hear the chatter of numerous voices. It was a little early, but it was not in itself unusual for Anakin to bring his friends over to eat. From the noise, it sounded like there were a lot of people, and Shmi poked her head around the corner. Anakin had seemingly brought in half the street. She needed to make more food. Not that Shmi minded, it was hardly a surprise that the children opted to come here, instead of their own homes, and Shmi would much rather see them safe and fed. Slave Quarters Row was hardly without its issues. In her quick glance, Shmi saw the bright ginger hair of Seek, and on his arm, his inseparable bully partner Melee. Shmi often worried about that pair. She suspected that the bullying was just an act. In contrast to her son’s endless well of optimism, it seemed that growing up on the streets had certainly taught the bullies some cynicism. But Shmi had also caught Melee’s quickly concealed excitement, when Anakin showed her the things he was building, and she hadn’t missed the soft way in which the girl treated little Aimee. The sea of children was such that Shmi almost missed the cloaked figure at the back of the group.

Padme was missing, presumably eating out elsewhere, with her Naboolian friends. Shmi barely payed it a thought. It did mean, however, that there was no buffer between Darth Maul and the children, although he seemed far less uncomfortable than he had the last time. The children were retelling the account of their rescuing of the ghostling children, and they were all speaking animatedly, reminiscing. Each voice butted in on top of the others, the children were battling in enthusiasm to add their own touches to the story. It was chaos. Darth Maul silently observed how the children seemed to converse with so much ease. It was still unfamiliar for him to be in these settings, but he appreciated it all the same. It was warm. There was an odd sense of togetherness, of attachment. Maul struggled to find a natural gap in the ebb and flow of conversation. He wanted to ask about the Jedi. His mission was, as always, playing on the back of his mind. His master’s voice, ever-present in his thoughts, taunting him. 

The conversation came up naturally enough, as Anakin made a passing remark about being a Jedi. It truly seemed to be the boy’s dream, misguided as it was. Shmi smiled at her son supportively. Maul noticed, but suppressed his rage far enough to intervene in the conversation, although he did observe a number of the children reflexively look over to him, in apprehension, when they heard mention of the Jedi. Were they nervous? Maul supposed he could sense fear, but he mainly interpreted it as weakness. Ah, how the inferiority of these fearful little slave children. Why he had no urge to strike any of them down, he could not figure out. “Anakin, you do not want to be a Jedi.” Maul said quietly. Aside from a few grunts to be polite, it was the first thing he had uttered since he had entered the Skywalker residence. The gravitas, and low pitch of his voice cut an edge through the childish babble, and Shmi found herself staring at Maul, with a strong, defensive urge to take her child as far away from him as she could. “Why not?” she said, voice steady, challenging the Sith, foolishly trying to get a rise out of him. Maul was surprised that she did not seem fearful, even though she seemed to sense the danger she was putting herself in. He licked his lips slightly before speaking. “They’re foolish. Weak. Hypocrites.” Maul stared her down, and spit flew from his lips as he forced the words out of his throat. She could feel, in his cold, yellow eyes, how deeply the hatred ran. “I would hardly call peace weakness,” Shmi responded calmly. Her tone echoed the self confidence of the Jedi. The red-skinned, hateful Zabrak surprised her very much with his response. Shmi was expecting dogmatism, his hatred seemed so ideological, so irrational. She was not expecting the quiet man to respond with anything close to fair criticism. Much less, something that she herself could agree with. And yet, Maul’s words, closing down the conversation, held a certain truth that she could not refute. “I would hardly call denial peace.”


	16. Chapter 16

The day had been long, and Shmi was far from attentive as she left work, her head spinning, trying to figure out why a circuit she had built earlier that day had malfunctioned. She had enough space left in her thoughts to be grateful that Watto was not violent. Business was not thriving, and she sometimes worried what would happen if it did go under. She didn’t hold all that much affection for her master, but he was a good enough man, a soldier, and he lived by a code of ethics that many people lacked. Shmi was grateful. Nevertheless, Shmi’s mind was occupied, her feet simply repeating their daily motions as they walked through the dusty Mos Espa streets. She walked past the tattered crescent sign of the Three Moons, where Padme’s royal party had been staying. Her eyes moved lazily over the shape of the letters, not taking in their meaning, not noticing her surroundings. Had it been a different day, she might have seen the cloaked figure that slipped effortlessly behind her, light feet barely making a mark on the sandy road. Had her mind been in the present, she might have seen the scarred face of her assailant before feeling the rough sensation of tattered cloth on her lips, in her mouth, something pressing hard against her jaw. Strong arms gripped her body as it relaxed, and she was half guided, half dragged into a side street, body placed on the ground. In the distance, the world seemed to go by, unnoticing that one had just been taken from their midst. 

Shmi’s kidnapper made a makeshift pillow from his jacket, and tenderly lifted her head onto it. She was conscious, but barely, her eyes struggled to stay open, and the noises rung around her, over-stimulating her foggy mind in a nauseating bubble of sound. “Hey, hey. I didn’t mean to scare you.” the voice was low, soothing, and even in her detached and delirious state, Shmi couldn’t fail to recognise it. Shmi attempted to speak, the conscious part of her brain attempting to say something along the lines of ‘well maybe you shouldn’t have drugged me then,’ but not only could she not bring her mouth to say the words, but she also knew it was pointless. The owner of the voice wasn’t someone she wanted to speak to. It was unlikely that she would have let even him say a word to her, she'd probably have run away, if he hadn't caught her off guard. “If you can agree to hear me out, I think we should move somewhere more comfortable?” Shmi’s instinct was to get as far away from him as she could, but she found herself nodding all the same, and the uncomfortably familiar muscled arms were soon lifting her delicately into the air.

Upon waking, Shmi could smell clean sheets, and alcohol. She rolled over, and curled her body up, instinctively, attempting to feel less exposed. It was a familiar motion. Shmi found herself in the centre of a large bed, in what appeared to be a bedroom, although Shmi could not tell what inn, or hotel they were at. A glass was poured somewhere in the room, and passed over to her. Shmi took it with shaking fingers, and sat up, still clutching her knees to her chest. She began glaring mercilessly at the man as she regained her bearings. He lit a small paper tube, and put it between his lips. He was relaxed, it seemed he almost looked pleased to see her. It made Shmi’s skin crawl. “You better have something worth saying.” 

The moment the slave mother entered her home, Qui Gon could sense something was wrong. It was late, she’d missed dinner, the kids had gone to bed, but Qui Gon was waiting up for her. She looked pale, shaken, worryingly similar to the other week, when he had found her tied up in that guard’s cell. He stepped towards her, hand outstretched in concern. Shmi tried to brush him aside, but he caught her arm gently, saying, “I thought you agreed to tell me what was going on.” Shmi continued past him wordlessly, into her bedroom, although she left the door open as she entered. Qui Gon took this as a gesture that he should follow, and he so he followed, shutting the door behind him. Qui Gon had barely been in this room, despite his living in the hovel for many weeks now. He’d been struck by how simplistic it was, the first time he had entered. In comparison to others in the hovel, even the room that Qui Gon and Padme were staying in, it was sparse. Shmi had few possessions. Few possessions on display anyhow, he did now know about her concealed storage. She sat down on her scrappy, grey bedcovers, and the Jedi sat down next to her. Shmi took a deep breath, and began to recount the interaction she’d had earlier that day. She barely managed to say anything, her sentences disjointed and littered with disclaimers. Qui Gon looked concerned, and although Shmi felt the familiar pang of guilt, she also felt another, softer feeling. Comfort. Qui Gon ran his hand gently along her back and shoulders as she spoke, and Shmi felt safer than she had expected she would. The drugs were still in her system a little, and her faculties were compromised. Qui Gon asked if she was hurt. Shmi could not remember. Other than the haze, she couldn’t tell if today had left any physical effects. She decided to shake her head, but the motion made her dizzy and she found herself lying down. Shmi lay, staring at the wall with her knees to her chest, still shaken, but anchored somewhat by Qui Gon’s quiet presence. 

Shmi was grateful for the silence. The Jedi did not push her to speak more than she could, nor more than she wanted to, although she could feel that he was curious. In honesty, Shmi wasn’t sure that she would have been able to speak if he’d pushed. Her mind was recounting images, and thoughts that she’d hoped were long buried. Today had blurred the boundaries between what was real, and what she knew were memories of another life. Shmi wasn’t aware of her body, the sensations of it felt so detached from anything that she would label as herself. But she somehow still felt exposed. There was a time when today would have been just an ordinary day. Had she gone soft? Maybe people were not meant to feel safe? The thoughts were flooding, accompanying the memories. Maybe she was just weak, foolish to think that she would ever be allowed to feel okay. It was hardly as though she had done anything to deserve the life she had now. Her mind scurried round, making excuses for the man’s behaviour, well practised at justifying the actions of those who mistreated her. It went through each memory in turn, finding in each, a reason to explain what had happened to her. She felt herself dissolving.

Qui Gon made a motion to leave, but Shmi’s hand instinctively grasped his leg from behind her as he tried to stand up. Confused, almost nervous, the Jedi stopped, frozen in the moment. Qui Gon tried to let the thoughts leave his brain as he felt an odd anticipation rise. A lifetime of practise had taught him to let go of his unwanted thoughts. To live in the moment. Qui Gon was grateful for his training, although he knew that, no matter how he justified it, where Shmi was concerned, he wasn’t acting in accordance with the code. Some part of him smiled at being held back. Although it was worry that soon took precedence, when he heard Shmi’s panicked whisper of, “stay. I don’t want him to come back.” Qui Gon squeezed her hand, acknowledging that he had heard, and had no intentions of leaving. He felt the sensations as their hands rested naturally on each other, his slight motion creating a feeling that filled him with warmth. Her body was rigid, and Qui Gon could sense a whirlwind of feelings. In a momentary decision, Qui Gon found himself lying down next to Shmi in the bed, and placing an arm softly over her waist, holding her safe. “I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered in response. He felt her body relax very slightly, as he pulled himself close to her. Gradually, her breathing steadied, as did his. The two fell asleep, softly embracing.


	17. Chapter 17

Anakin Skywalker was thriving. Working for Watto was always tolerable, provided he had something to look forward to, and Anakin certainly had that. He was surrounded by friends every moment of his free time, new and old, and Padme even came by to see him at work sometimes. She was always sweet to him, and he had never got over how angelically beautiful she was. It brightened up his day no end when she dropped by. Also, his projects were going better than ever, C-3PO was close to finished, and his new Zabrak friend was helping solve problems that he had been stuck on for months. Even his mum had seemed happier recently. Currently, Anakin was on his way to meet Darth Maul. There was something odd about the man, and every time Anakin mentioned wanting to be a Jedi, he felt an odd sense, as though his friend’s hatred was somehow mixed in with his own feelings. Even though Anakin was used to sensing a lot of other people’s feelings, this intensity, this rage, was uncomfortable. Anakin had suggested that he take Darth Maul to meet the Jedi, he wanted to show him that they weren’t as bad at he seemed to think they were. Although Anakin was now regretting offering. The way the man reacted, almost gleeful, filled Anakin with fear. He wanted to show his friend that the Jedi were nothing like Maul thought. He knew that he wasn’t meant to tell strangers about the Jedi’s presence, because of their mission, but Maul wasn’t a stranger. He was a friend. And Anakin trusted that the man wouldn’t hurt his other friends.

The horned shadow was visible before Anakin turned the corner, but so were the feelings. Anakin felt as though he could feel Maul before he saw him. The small boy tapped Maul on the shoulder, and the man turned round, smiling. There was something unconvincing about the smile. Maul looked pleased to see him, yet Anakin felt a gut sense of mistrust. Oh no. Had he made a mistake in setting up the meeting? It wasn't clear. Maul asked him about his day, and Anakin was soon distracted, chatting enthusiastically, as he led the Sith down the familiar path towards his house. The moment the house was visible, there was a loud buzzing noise from both sides. Sticks of blue and green light were visible, mere metres from the Skywalker home. Beside Anakin, Maul had taken out his own red, double sided lightsaber. He stood, crouched in anticipation. Anakin only took a moment to be impressed by the sight, before he realised what was happening. Qui Gon’s voice shouted over for Anakin to hide, and the slave boy didn’t have the presence of mind to question it. He was still in awe. Anakin ran over to where Padme stood, tucked to the side, watching on. He couldn’t read the expression that was present on her angelic face, but he sensed apprehension. Anakin suddenly became aware that the edges of the street were lining with slaves, looking on. This was the most exciting thing to happen in Slave Quarters Row for a while.

Maul leapt in the air in a perfectly executed arc, landing deftly, and bringing down blows with both ends of his lightsaber. The Jedi seemed to anticipate his movement however, and blocked with equal competence. The lightsabers flashed, blocking strike after strike, and their footwork was fast, kicking up an impressive cloud of dust around them as they fought. The Jedi worked as a pair, their well practised teamwork more than compensating for their deficiency in skill. Neither Jedi had ever come across an opponent as well trained, or skillful as this. Maul fought with confidence, passion fueling his every movement, sharpening his focus. Any slip, any lapse of attention, and Maul would be sure to strike them down where they stood. The same was true for Maul, and he felt afraid. Or he would have, if he could feel anything beyond the rage that was coursing through his limbs. The Jedi lunged and span, lightsabers whipping through the air, a natural accessory to their arms. The closer they got to him, the more fury he felt. They fuelled his rage. Maul's whole life he had been taught to channel rage. The force was working for him, and he was certainly going to use it to its most destructive purpose.

From the wings, the fight was an epic sight. If it were not for the mortal danger, there would likely have been whooping and groans, possibly even bets made, as the fight progressed. Anakin was enthralled in the spectacle. But he, much like his friends, had no desire to see any of the participants hurt. By his side, Padme was totally transfixed, although it was unclear which side she was taking. A black boot hit Obi Wan squarely in the chest, as Maul pushed off into a backwards somersault. The young Jedi fell to the floor, winded. His lightsaber retracted, and rolled a few inches away from his hand. Qui Gon stepped in front of his apprentice defensively, although, now that he was fighting alone, it was becoming increasingly apparent that Maul was the better fighter. Maul narrowly missed the Jedi’s neck, and Qui Gon stepped backwards, exposing Obi Wan’s body to attack. Maul raised his saber high, ready to strike down, to plunge it deeply into Obi Wan’s chest. Anakin found himself running. He expected to feel Padme’s arm across him, holding him back, and was surprised to find her running alongside him. She had not reacted as quickly as he had, not having been born with Jedi reflexes, but she was fast, and the two of them slammed into Maul’s body, knocking him backwards. Padme immediately turned around, arm raised, and started walking towards Qui Gon. She didn’t need to utter an order for Qui Gon to understand. The spell was broken, the fight was over. He put his sword away, and helped his apprentice to his feet. The two Jedi sauntered off, heading back to the Three Moons, where Obi Wan was staying. Maul’s eyes tracked them as they left, although he didn’t try to move.

It only took an instance for Maul to be encircled by small children. He tried to turn away, seeming overwhelmed, but there was no escape. Padme noticed his distress, and, once again, mediated. “Hey, give him some space.” She was firm, and the children listened, backing off, although reluctant. This was one of the most exciting things they'd ever witnessed. She stepped forward and placed her small hand on his elbow, leading him away from the fray. Maul looked intensely at the ground. Padme led them round the back of the Skywalker house, and the two of them sat on a wall together, in silence. The intensity of Maul’s emotion served to stir deep curiosity in the young queen. Padme had often found her eyes drawn to the young Zabrak, in the times that they had spent together. She found herself wondering what life he’d led, what secrets were being held beneath that silent demeanour. She allowed herself to imagine the adventures he might have been on. She imagined the people he’d met, wondered if he even noticed her, or if she was just some insignificant blip in his life. She wasn’t used to feeling like that. As Queen, it wasn’t often that she wanted someone’s attention. Much the opposite, in fact, usually she just wanted peace. People would smother her, only see her position, not her for herself. But now, she was wondering if he saw her as anything at all. Padme didn't feel like there was much of her to see. Right now, Padme felt so much empathy, it hurt. It wasn’t clear what exactly was going through his head, but Maul was in pain. Padme imagined what it would be like to hold him.

There was no part of Maul’s upbringing, his culture, that tolerated weakness, or failure. Sith and Zabrak both, Maul had failed to be good enough. And yet, he had stopped. Through victory, my chains are broken. The Sith mantra was replaying itself in his head. Why had he stopped? What could possibly have mattered? Maul wasn’t beyond killing his friends, nor children, Kilindi had even smiled before the grip of death had taken it from her, he was clearly that transparent with his character. He cursed the children louder and louder in his head. There was even one of them with him now. The girl, Padme. She was looking at him with something resembling pity. It made him angry. “I’m fine.” he spat, although she hadn’t asked him anything. His voice surprised him, he sounded pathetic, as though he was lying, in some futile attempt to seem stronger than he was. “I don’t need your help.” he corrected himself. “Or your pity.” Padme looked bemused, she didn’t expect him to speak. “I didn’t say anything. I’m just sitting here.”

The two sat in silence for a while, thoughts spinning. Both were too much in their own heads for the silence to be awkward, although with Padme’s attention was so focused on what Maul was thinking, she felt as though he must be feeling uncomfortable with it. Padme spoke, building her confidence up in her head, overthinking each word before saying it aloud, and regretting it the moment they left her mouth. She would have blushed, but she didn’t want him to see her stumble. He was so sure of himself, there was no way she was going to let him see anything less in her. Padme was used to having to prove herself, being so young, but she, at least, had confidence in her abilities when it came to being queen, but this she had no experience in. She had an inexpiable need to be liked by this man. She wanted him to find her caring, intelligent. Pretty. “I don’t really know what to say.” God she was pathetic. A cliched line. “You know it’s okay right?” Padme desperately wanted to say something more. She didn’t know what she was meant to be saying. What did one say in this situation? I care about you, and I want you to talk to me, so I can show you it's going to be okay? Surely that was selfish? Maul was still silent, but Padme found her mouth continuing talking, just stating the obvious. “I don’t know what it is you’ve got going on with the Jedi. I don’t know what the Jedi have done to you, or what your problem is. I’m not going to try and make excuses for them, I know even good people can do evil things. But it’s okay. You’re alive, I think you should be grateful. I’m glad you’re alive.” she’d become stroppy, kindness still seeping in despite trying to sound insightful, but she felt stupid, childish, immature for almost reprimanding the Sith for his apparent misery. “It’s not as simple as that.” Maul spoke, the sound of his voice still unfamiliar territory to Padme’s ears. It had a lovely timbre. She didn’t yet know the subtlety in his tone, the meaning behind each inflection. But she wanted to. He spoke slowly and each word seemed to hold an unknown importance. “I don’t know why I stopped.” Maul sounded, lost? Padme wasn’t sure, but she could tell that speaking words at all felt like an intimate confession for the young Zabrak. “I failed.” The tone in that final sentence was unmissable. Despair. A truly heart wrenching tone that made Padme hold her breath, preserving the space for the feeling for the words. She wondered what lay underneath it, but she felt it, without the need to understand. He created so much with so few words. He spoke to a truth, something so genuine that Padme felt her thoughts dying one by one as they paled in comparison. Padme found herself petting the Sith gently on the arm, coaxing him to talk further. She wanted him to feel she was more than just a kid. She was old enough to understand everything he was feeling, she could support him. Maul was amused momentarily. On a level, he was aware of the familiar tone that Padme was using. It wasn’t dissimilar to how he spoke to his droids. Padme cared.

Meanwhile, the Jedi walked, side by side through the entrance to the bar, and joined a table of their companions for a drink. They say in silence, flopping into the unoccupied chairs and looking tense. “Nice to see you both getting on,” said Ric flippantly. “We’ve just been attacked.” Obi Wan responded immediately, ignoring Ric’s accurate teasing. Ric's face fell, and the words drew in the attention of the whole group. The small assortment of guards, handmaidens and pilots all leant in closely to interrogate them. “What attacked you?” asked Sabe, and to her left, Tonra added, in sign language, “are you okay?” Qui Gon brushed the guard aside, “yeah, yeah we’re fine. It ended before anyone got hurt.” He addressed the young handmaiden’s question with a more serious focus. “I don’t know what it was. It was very well trained. I think if it wasn’t for the boy, we would be dead.” Qui Gon breathed deeply, and by his side, Obi Wan felt the same. He wanted to tell them more, but respected his master had chosen not to. They had both sensed the darkness, the strength in the force. They would likely have to consult the council. But that would risk exposing Padme’s impersonator on Naboo. Protecting the Queen had just become more complicated again. Sabe’s face showed concern, usually smooth skin wrinkled with anxiety. No matter their training, if something could kill two Jedi, what hope did the rest of them have. 

Obi Wan went to his room, and lay down on his crumpled bed sheets. He stared at the blank wall near his bed. By the bed next to him, Porro had decorated his area of the room with wonderful artworks, which Obi Wan presumed to be Rabe’s. The girl was wonderfully talented. Obi Wan was content to find he no longer found himself wondering what it would be like to have possessions like that. In fact, Obi Wan’s mind didn’t dwell on any of what he had sacrificed. He had a clear focus, as clear as he had had when he was a child. There was a threat, and it was his job to deal with that. They were on a mission. That night, both Jedi and Sith fell asleep with only one thought on their minds. There was no peaceful way for them to exist. The creature, the person, whoever they were, didn’t seem to be open to negotiating. They were certain to fight. It was unlikely that both Jedi, and Sith, could possibly survive.


	18. Chapter 18

“Anakin. It’s not that I don’t want you to have friends. It just isn’t safe.” The group were sat around the Skywalkers’ breakfast table, and Shmi was making her position clear. “But mommmm,” Anakin whined, his high voice seeming even more like a small child’s than usual. The two had been bickering all morning and Padme felt uncomfortable observing. She could see Anakin’s position. She, too, cared about Maul, and Anakin was right that he hadn’t posed any threat to Anakin or any of the children. If anything, the opposite. Anakin was arguing back stubbornly, sulking. “He’s my friend. I can’t just not see him anymore.” Around the table, no one else was saying a word. Jar Jar’s eyes kept swivelling awkwardly between the slave child and his mother, and Qui Gon was trying his best to not get involved. Even the droids were unusually silent. Shmi was firm but her voice didn’t get angry, or strict. “Ani,” Anakin squirmed in his seat, arms folded grumpily. “You can still see Maul today, once more, to explain, but you have to tell him you won’t see him again.” Anakin could see that she wasn’t willing to negotiate. He prodded his food, angry that his mother was so clearly siding with the Jedi. “Ani?” she pressed, insistent on a response. Anakin glared at his mother, pulled a fake smile and said, resentfully, “Yes mom.”

“It’s not fair.” Padme smiled sympathetically at him, as she watched the young Skywalker explain the situation to Maul. It wasn’t fair. Not totally. After all, there had been nothing to suggest that it was Maul, and not the Jedi, who were responsible for the fight yesterday. Padme was debating getting involved. When she herself was younger than Anakin, she was already so entrenched in politics, that she had had a strong idea of what she believed to be right. Anakin should be allowed to make his own decisions. Hoping this didn’t lead somewhere dangerous, Padme interrupted, “Ani, you do know your mother can be wrong?” she panicked slightly as she saw the way the child looked up at her, wide eyed, with an unearned trust. “I’m not saying you should disobey her.” Padme quickly added. Although, if it was her, she would. “But you’re allowed to make these decisions for yourself. She doesn’t even need to know, if you don’t want her to.” Both Maul and Padme were looking at Anakin as he shifted uneasily from side to side, deciding what to do. “I don’t know,” he said, uncomfortably squirming in his seat. He reached out his small, clammy hand and touched Maul’s chest. “You’re my friend. And I care about you.” Maul opened his arms slightly, and found himself surprisingly comfortable at the now familiar sensation, as the tiny boy wrapped his arms around his waist and squeezed him. In Maul’s mind, he formed the words he wanted to say. The Sith would see this as a teaching moment. Power, strength, taking what you want, these were more important than anything else could ever be, and those who stand in your way should be destroyed. But he supposed it wasn’t as clear as that. The Sith had a straightforward focus, power, but Maul considered that it was not always so easy to figure out what you wanted. Anakin and Padme left, still undecided about what Anakin was going to do about the situation. Maul found himself furious, but he didn’t know why. Unfamiliar thoughts threatened to take hold, but Maul quenched them easily. Friendship was pointless anyway.

After work, Anakin returned to his and Maul's meeting point, intending to tell him his decision. He had been mulling it over in the shop, and had decided to see Maul regardless of his mother’s instruction. When he got there, Maul was nowhere to be found. Anakin felt uneasy, fearing something bad had happened to his friend, and he gathered a small search party. The children, spearheaded by Padme and Anakin, made an impression on the town of Mos Espa. They flew through buildings as a swarm, lively and determined. It was odd, the children had executed plans in the past, saved people, but there was a distinct unity between them today. One could almost imagine them grown, fighting and dying by each other's sides. They tore the town apart searching, or at least that was how it felt. Anakin had not gone home to confront his mother, and it was starting to get late. The children turned a corner and entered a bar. The stench of blood hit them as they burst through the doors, making the children retch. At the bar, Sebulba was sitting, drinking sullenly. He turned to the kids, especially to Ani, and, speaking in Dug, spat out, “scumbags. Are you here to mock us?” As he spoke, he extended a toe unconsciously to the area behind the bar, which was concealed from view. There was a wave of anxious curiosity buzzing through the group as they edged closer. The sight was horrific. A pool of blood seeped across the stone tiles. The children could see limbs, bodies haphazardly piled. Many of the children clung together, whimpers escaping their lips. Padme and Anakin’s eyes met, both minds wondering the same thing.

Sebulba was the last person Anakin wanted to ask for information, but he did have one advantage, he was there. Through a series of taunts, a product of the dug's attempts to cover his pain, they started to get glimpses of the story. It wasn’t clear what had started it, but it seemed that it was maybe an unwanted advance of some nature, or perhaps a dispute about clothing, it wasn’t clear. Bar fights were not unusual in these parts, but this was not a fair fight. The onlookers hadn’t even been watching until it was too late. Maul had cut his way through a number of bodies, rageful and unrestrained. It seemed anyone who had been in his path was now, at best, dismembered. Anakin’s cheeks were red. His eyes, much like the others’ were filled with horror. Little Amee was snivelling into Melee’s sleeve, her tiny hands shaking, and even Padme was struggling to maintain her composure. Although, Anakin's blush had not been one of horror, he was ashamed. His first thought had not been about those who were killed, or injured. And even now, he was just worried about his friend. Had it been he, Ani, who had driven Maul to this? Should he have said something different this morning? Where was he? Was he okay? The search wasn’t over yet. Anakin looked at the faces of his friends. They had been through a lot together, and yet he didn’t feel it was right, somehow, to ask them to come with him, after witnessing this. He hugged each of his friends goodbye, surprised to find Padme still by his side. With a no-nonsense attitude, she said sharply, “c’mon, we still haven’t found him.” Anakin took her hand, relieved not to be alone.

The two continued their search, talking to as few people as they could, not wanting to hear of any further destruction Maul had left in his wake. They reached the outskirts, and, for the first time, they laid eyes on Maul’s ship. There was a black motorcycle hovering outside, and the ramp to entry was down. It was a lovely ship. Elegant, small, rounded, and the interior was red and glowing. Anakin shivered. “He’s in there, I can sense him.” Padme looked down, seemingly impressed, but didn’t comment. “I guess that’s where we’re going then.”

Maul felt them before he saw them. He placed down his lightsaber, and pulled up his hood. He had nothing he wanted to discuss. _Weak. Failure._ His mind attacked him with a barrage of insults, the voices from his youth ringing in his ears. He could not please his master, he could not do as he was told, couldn't complete a mission. He couldn’t even be good enough for this child. Rage was at the surface of his skin. By all rights this child should be dead. “Maul? Are you okay?” The voices hurt, breaking through his thoughts. If he were a weaker man, he would have felt this pain, but Maul only felt a reflexive malice. He wanted to destroy them both. The light from the corridor was blocked, suddenly, by the figure of the tiny, golden haired child. Maul looked up, but the instant he registered what was happening, he found himself enveloped by tiny limbs, clutching him tightly. The hatred melted away. A flood of pain found itself rising within him, and Maul was frozen, it was all he could do to keep his eyes from crying. Odd.

Padme’s apprehension turned into words. “We heard what happened at the bar.” Padme said quietly. It was unlikely that the Zabrak would respond, she understood, it wasn't his way, but she wanted to say her piece. “It’s not okay, you know? Killing.” Maul felt oddly vulnerable, confused why she was here if she felt this way, but he could feel gratitude, in himself, mixing into the chaos of emotion he was currently experiencing. “You can’t do that. You just can’t do that.” Her eyes were filled with tears, she seemed uncertain about what she was doing, possibly even why she was here, but the passion in her voice was unmistakable. “And running away.” She seemed guilty. As though she was making a confession. “We were worried you had gone.” Maul met her eyes. She was scared. “Forever.” Unspeaking, Maul raised a hand, and pulled her into the hug. The three of them sat in silence, as night fell, huddled together. Padme could hear the Zabrak’s hearts beating, and their three breaths made soft noises, gently punctuating the silence. 

The calmness of Maul’s ship was matched only by the energy of Shmi’s rage when the children returned home late. Anakin didn’t even try to lie, and, after her initial concern subsided, the pair began a heated argument. “It’s not fair, he gets to stay here, but I can’t see Maul?” Anakin’s small hands were balled into fists, and he was looking her dead in the eyes, with no intention of backing down. By her side, Qui Gon raised a hand, attempting to quiet his anger. “Anakin! Qui Gon is your friend too, is he not? He is a good man, and I won’t have you running around with people who want him dead. I thought you wanted to be a Jedi! I thought you wanted to help others!” Even in anger, Shmi had an edge of calmness and reason to her speaking. Her son, however, was not calmed. “I don’t want to be a Jedi anymore, they’re cruel and weak. They don’t give people a chance. You haven’t given Maul a chance. He hasn’t done anything to you, you got your light sword out the moment you saw him, you never even gave him a chance. He’s my friend.” Anakin’s jaw was locked, and any anger he felt was exacerbated by the Jedi’s attempt to soothe him. “Anakin it’s not safe. I understand you want to think the best of people, but some people are just dangerous. Please Ani. I love you. I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt.” Or killed, she thought. She was close to tears, and Qui Gon’s hand had found its way to her shoulder. Stepping forward, he spoke down to the boy. “Show your mother some respect.” Anakin’s face was a snarl. He began to storm away. “Why would I listen to a word you say. You pretend to care about people but you don't. Get out of my life. You don’t know me. You’re not my dad.”


	19. Chapter 19

Qui Gon wasn’t used to the easy, flowing dynamic that the outlanders seemed to have. It wasn’t so much that he felt uncomfortable, as a Jedi, he had a deep security and sense of who he was, it was more that he felt a distance between himself and the others. And, more unusually, between himself and Obi Wan. Their dynamic shift had shaken Qui Gon a little, it was taking time to get used to, although it was far from unexpected. The young apprentice was truly dedicated to the order, and it seemed apparent that Qui Gon was not. It was as simple as that. It was somewhat odd for Qui Gon, to see Ric’s arm draped around Obi Wan’s shoulders, sharing drinks together, laughing like family. Qui Gon wasn't jealous, instead, impassively observing. Obi Wan also felt no hostility towards his master, in fact, in his life, he felt nothing but peace. Qui Gon picked at a plate of green sludge with his fork. No one seemed to notice how exhausted he looked. Sabe was busy fluttering her eyelashes at Tonra, touching his hands a seemingly unnecessary amount. The young guard didn’t seem to have noticed her intentions, but was smiling and laughing all the same, she must have been legitimately funny. Qui Gon didn’t understand a lot of what they were saying, with Sabe’s hands moving more quickly and complexly than he was familiar with, but it seemed that the teenagers were engaged in some kind of insult battle. Rabe and Porro were absent from the group, but Qui Gon decided to direct his question at the remaining handmaidens. “Where’s Padme?” It was hardly as though he hadn’t seen enough of the young queen lately, but it still felt slightly odd to him that she wouldn’t choose to spend her time with the handmaidens. They had seemed close, after all. Sabe briefly turned away from her attempts at flirting, “oh, I don’t know, she kind of does her own thing, we don’t see all that much of her.” Her tone was indifferent. “Doesn’t it bother you? Considering she’s the reason we’re all here?” They shrugged, turning away. No one seemed to care. Eirtae was the only one to respond, tone defensive. “She’s cool. We’re just doing our jobs, she’s doing hers. Besides, it’s not like it’s so bad here. And it’s hardly as if she wouldn’t do the exact same for us. She’d be here in a heartbeat if we needed her, and she’d let us have our space if it’s what we wanted. So we give her that same freedom.” Her eyes spoke the unspoken truth, ‘and we all know she would die for us and we for her, she wouldn’t even need to ask'. After a moment, she added, “she seems to like hanging out with that slave kid anyway, I don’t think she’s having too bad a time.”

Without any air of rudeness, the group fell back into talking, and Qui Gon was once more alone with his thoughts. It had been a long night. After the fight between Ani and Shmi, Shmi had stayed up with him for hours. She was scared. Something about the way Maul had come after him that day in the street had shaken her, far more than she was willing to say, but he could feel the way she seemed to pull away from him. More than he was used to. Anakin’s words were playing in his head too. Had he gone too far? He had never meant to cross any lines, never to interfere with Shmi’s parenting. It was not his place. He’d only meant to help. It was no matter now though, he’d left, early, before sunsrise. It was better this way. From the Three Moons he couldn’t do any damage. At least he hoped he couldn’t. Attachments were complicated, and new to Qui Gon. He sighed deeply, head resting on the plastic table. Dark-skinned, soft fingers clapped his shoulder. Quarsh was a sweetheart. 

A crash from another section of the bar made both Qui Gon and Obi Wan freeze suddenly, looking up. A drunken man in a well-worn leather jacket had just fallen, slamming his body into the body of a middle-aged Sinteen man. There was a pause, the attention of the bar was on the two men, excited anticipation pulsing. Punches were thrown, and avoided. The Sinteen muttered something under his breath, and soon a gun was pressed against his enormous temple. “Let’s see how quick your words are after I put a hole in your brain, eh?” The Jedi moved quickly, in complete synchronicity. Disarming the man, they tore the pair apart. “Now now, don’t be foolish,” Qui Gon said patronisingly as the Sinteen made a movement to restart the conflict. Muttering curses, he threw down some money and slipped out of the door, disappearing into the night. The bar reluctantly returned to their drinks, the familiar hum returning. The man they had been left with was strong, not in a brutish way, simply well-built, with the posture of a soldier. He was a similar age to Qui Gon, white, with tanned skin, and a loose bandana holding back what remained of his fair hair. He was drunk beyond any point where he could possibly be dangerous, and yet, Qui Gon felt a deep pang of unease in his gut. The man, uninvited, joined their table.

Obi Wan, excused himself soon after, making an excuse about needing to train. While it was likely true, Obi Wan received an affectionate boo of unpopularity as he left. Slurred speech, and a surprisingly thorough interrogation by Naboo’s pilots, revealed very little about the stranger. He wasn’t a local, that much was clear. He seemed oddly vague about his intentions, something which Qui Gon reacted to with great suspicion. He didn't know why he was so uneasy, but there was something wrong about this man. To keep a secret whilst so deeply intoxicated, he must be truly conditioned into it. Maybe the others would have some success yet. Qui Gon didn’t miss the way the man’s eyes travelled across the girls. Pausing inappropriately to stare at Sabe. Disgusted, Quarsh spoke, “she’s a little young for you sir.” By his side, Ric was staring at him threateningly. The stranger held his hands up in protest. “Message received. I think I’m set for tonight anyhow.” His palm was bare, and Qui Gon noticed a familiar symbol tattooed in the centre of the skin. The pieces fell into place and suddenly there were no thoughts in Qui Gon’s mind. His body acted far before the feeling registered. An emotion he hadn’t felt since he was a child. Not like this certainly. His body flowed, freely moving, for the briefest second, with a pure, determined rage. His hand was raised, and he was on his feet. The newcomer was pinned against the wall, his strong arms grappling at his neck. Not for the first time this evening, Qui Gon felt Quarsh’s comforting hand on his shoulder. Immediately calmed, composure regained, and released the man. Yellow teeth were visible, his mouth still agape as he gasped for air, an expression of shock registering behind the drunken blankness.

“Where is she.” Qui Gon demanded. He jumped the table and stood over the stranger, grasping his face with one hand, manipulating his features, forcing him to look at him. Qui Gon seemed driven by a singular determination. This was passion like none of the others had ever seen from a Jedi before. “Hey man, what are you talking about,” Ric asked from behind him. Without turning, Qui Gon explained “I’ve seen this tattoo before.” Almost to confirm his suspicions, the man laughed, an ugly, hearty laugh and spat on Qui Gon’s cheek. He spoke, growling directly into the stranger’s face. “He’s got Shmi.” The disgusting man rolled his head backwards, but didn’t deny Qui Gon’s statement. He stumbled to his feet, with difficulty. “You can have her, if you can find her, she isn’t worth the trouble anyhow.” Qui Gon somehow doubted he would give up so easily, but now was not the time to question that. His legs moved without his knowledge as rushed out of the hotel bar and into the street, racking his brain to remember any details Shmi might have given him from before. He calmed his senses too, hoping he might be able to sense if she was nearby. 

It was only the fourth inn that he had burst into, when he sensed her. She didn’t seem afraid. Maybe he had drugged her, like last time. Qui Gon shook his head, appalled at the memory. Ignoring all social niceties, he burst up the stairs of the building and began tearing away the doors until he found the right one. He smiled has he entered the room. Shmi was sitting up on the bed, unpicking the knots that held her feet down, with her skilled fingers. Her tunic was torn at the shoulder, and Qui Gon could see her version of the tattoo that he had seen on the stranger. He rushed over to help untie her. Guilt about leaving hit him for the first time in full force. He muttered under his breath, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Shmi stopped him, not waiting for an explanation, and cupped his face softly towards her own, kissing him softly. Moments later, a figure appeared in the door. “Master I-” Obi Wan tailed off, face blank, seeing the lovers, Shmi’s lips entwined with Qui Gon’s. Heart pounding slightly, Obi Wan backed away, and walked out of the door, swearing to himself that he must be ready to face the trials. Anything to be free of his master.


	20. Chapter 20

“Hey Obi, what’s up? You seem off today.” Porro and Obi Wan were lying together on a large, elaborately patterned rug, staring through a haze onto a smoke filled room, somewhere deep in Jabba’s palace. Rabe had been commissioned to paint a portrait of a rich guest of Jabba’s, and, with nothing better to do, Obi Wan and Porro had decided to accompany her. “Oh it’s nothing.” Obi Wan said dismissively, in answer to his friend’s concerned questioning. Sitting in the middle of the room, the man Rabe was painting had long, luscious fur growing from dark brown skin, and knobbled horns protruding from his skull. His husband, who had made the commission, was a notorious Devaronian smuggler, and Rabe felt a pressure to impress. Not that it was a difficult subject. The man was beautiful, and dressed in such fine fabrics that rendering him in paint was certain to be flattering. The man was high, a haze of t’bac and spice, but his horns still picked up the signals, and he muttered the word ‘liar’ in a thick Antarian accent. “What?” Rabe asked him sweetly, not wanting to displease her subject. “That man over there, the one with the braid? He’s lying.” Rabe’s hypnotic, dark eyes flickered across to where her boyfriend was lying. “Obi? I doubt it. He’s not really into lying.” The handmaiden dismissed the comment, and resumed her focus, deliberate strokes capturing the essence of the man. “If you say so.” He rolled back against his cushioned seat and promptly went to sleep. Rabe cursed under her breath about the change in position, but she was far too practised an artist to need more than a few minutes in front of a subject to capture them accurately.

The time passed quickly, and Obi Wan and Porro found themselves idly jumping between topics they had never previously discussed. Both only seemed to grow more curious about the other, as the hours stretched on. By the time Rabe finished her painting, and jumped into Porro’s lap, the two had almost forgotten she was there, so absorbed were they in themselves. Her slender arms wrapped around Porro’s neck and she curled into a ball on his chest. The gotal she had been painting was still fast asleep, and she would be paid until he woke, so they were not in any rush to leave. She reached up to press a kiss to Porro’s cheek. “Obi, what’s going on with you?” The Jedi looked confused. “What do you mean?” His heart was beating a little too fast, and he could feel a tension in his throat. Lying, even about the most mundane things, was still unfamiliar to him. “It was just something the guy said when I was painting him. You know how they have empathy powers or something.” Obi Wan considered lying for a moment, claiming that he didn’t know what she was on about, but he wasn’t prepared to lie about someone else, not simply for his own sake. He decided instead to stay quiet. The couple looked at him, four curious eyes fixed on his, unblinking.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” Obi Wan’s voice broke, as he spoke. His companions stared, silent, hoping he would elaborate. He snorted, self aware. “I guess this is how life is for the rest of you.” Obi Wan explained, “sometimes the Jedi Order fails to mention just how much of the human experience we miss out on. They teach us to control our feelings, they teach us duty, how to manage attachment, but they never once talked about doubt." He was rambling slightly, "I guess there’s something about spending your whole life around people who just have one goal, one single thing at the centre of their entire lives. It’s really quite extraordinary. I think we all forget what it means to be a person? What all of the people that we supposedly 'love', that we have compassion for, that we help find peace, what it is they’re doing, what it is they’re feeling. The Force, the Code, the Order. That’s all we have, all we hold onto. It's as though the strip out all the layers of our humanity, and just give us the purest. And, I know, I truly deeply know that it’s all that matters.” They were listening, their quiet, understanding smiles giving the impression that he was heard, safe even, free to speak his mind. Rabe asked again, pushing gently in her way, “but that’s not what’s wrong is it? The missing out?” Obi Wan shrugged slightly, for a moment looking younger and more lost than they had seen him. “No. Probably not. My master seems to care about that though.” Obi Wan struggled, spite emerging, mingled with fear, both reflexively suppressed by his mind. He wanted to talk more, but he also felt the familiar pang of discomfort around others caring about him, taking care of him, a Jedi was meant to be totally self-sufficient. There was also the question of how he could possibly articulate what he was feeling. The second he got close to emoting, he just felt calm again. And he wanted to feel calm. He wanted to be at peace, he was a Jedi. He knew exactly what he should be doing, always. So in essence, there was nothing wrong. “I’m good. Everything’s okay.” He thought he meant it this time.

That evening, Anakin and Padme went to see Darth Maul again. After the events of the other day, the meeting was shrouded by anxiety. There didn’t seem to be any repercussions to the damage he had caused, short of being theoretically banned from the one bar. It was as though nobody could see the point of attempting to hold him to some sort of punishment, as there would be no one brave or foolish enough to try to enforce it. Maul still wondered into town at his leisure, still bought his meat from the same stall. Still drank his water, and sat in his cloak, grumbling in his head, and itching to destroy the weaklings around him. Not the children though. Maul’s friends met him back at their usual spot, and it was almost normal. The quiet tension was comforted by a feeling of closeness, of connection. While Maul was uncomfortable with the idea of friendship, scared, reflexively angry, a small, neglected part of him was feeding deeply on a love he had hardly experienced before. Maul and Padme were silent, comfortable. Padme’s eyes seemed to hold an admiration for him that Maul didn’t understand, and didn’t care to. Anakin was talking, a lot, going on about Qui Gon, complaining. It gave Maul a dark satisfaction to hear the young boy criticise the same Jedi he had so vehemently defended before. Maul’s face smiled, revealing his blackened teeth. He could feel Padme notice them. He wondered why.

Anakin’s complaints continued for a while, providing an easy backdrop as they fixed spaceship parts. Their hands and minds were occupied, but each enjoyed the others’ company. In time, it fell to silence, but Maul did not notice, until Padme spoke, suddenly, as though it had been building to this moment, and the words were bursting out of her, unable to be contained any longer. “Please don’t kill our friends.” Maul stopped, staring at her, yellow eyes baring down into hers. She seemed scared, although he couldn’t sense any trace of regret. She didn’t understand. She didn’t know. Maul supposed it was beyond any hope that he could put off responding indefinitely, even if he avoided speaking today. Reluctantly, eyes still glued to the young queen, he felt himself become vulnerable. “I don’t have a choice.” he said. Padme was surprised. Perhaps she had assumed he was acting out of his own volition. “I thought… I thought you hated the Jedi?” Maul’s eyes glimmered with amusement. Oh how he did hate the Jedi, he hated every weak and feeble creature on this planet. He wanted to slaughter them all. But he was not free. “I do.” he smiled as he said it. After a pause, he sighed and he put his tools down to give her his full attention. “ I have a mission,” he explained, “I must do my master’s bidding.” Then came the questions. The girl was indignant, curious, unsatisfied with the mere scraps of information she had been given. Why he seemed to care for these children was beyond his rational comprehension. “Are you afraid of your master?” The words whipped up a spiral of memories in Maul's head. Sidious had taught him everything, had created him, shown him the true power of the Force. Maul remembered being a child, how it had been his master who had taken him away from slavery, returned his tattoos to him when they had been stripped by his own people. It was Sidious who taught him to fear, to hate, to have passion. Of course he was afraid of him. He hated him, but it was those feelings that made him that much stronger. It was his master’s gift to him. Maul placed a hand on Padme’s arm, and, in answer, said, “don’t panic.” With a small gesture, he created illusions in her mind. Glimpses of himself, of his life, of his master flashed incoherently before her. Tears rolled from Padme’s eyes, until she interrupted him, calling out for him to stop. Maul did as he was asked, confused once more, as the young girl threw her arms around him.

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfiction, hope it's okay <3 (think I'm getting into it as I'm writing, might do a little rewrite/edit at some point)


End file.
